summary: You get clingy and touchy when drunk, and George takes care of you the whole night | George x fem!reader
notes: fluffmas day 7! I think this is the cutest fluffiest thing ive ever written, apparently george fluff is my forte. based on this and this request.
content: tooth rotting fluff, alcohol consumption, touchy drunk, protective george
You had promised everyone – sworn – that you would pace yourself tonight.
Every single one of the boys had given you The Look when you showed up to the pub golf filming, but George’s look lingered the longest.
“You’re stickin’ with me tonight,” he’d said, slinging an arm around your shoulders before the first hole was even poured, “I’m not dragging you out of a kebab shop again, alright?”
You nodded innocently.
And then proceeded to lose all sense of pacing by hole two.
By hole five, you were leaning on George with your full body weight, giggling at absolutely nothing while the others filmed around you.
George had one arm wrapped tight around your waist, trying to look casual for the camera while very much acting like a human seatbelt.
“Alright, love.” He murmured as you practically melted into him, “You’re holding onto me like I’m about to float away.”
You hummed happily and patted his chest.
“I like you. You’re soft.”
He blinked. “Soft?”
You nodded aggressively. “Soft. And warm. And you smell nice.”
His ears went pink. That always happened when he got flustered.
“Well… thank you?” he said, voice cracking slightly. “But I think you’ve had enough now.”
“I haven’t,” you said, pointing dramatically at the next drink waiting on the table. “I need to win.”
“You can’t even see straight.”
“YES, I CAN!” You squinted at him. “You have... two faces.”
He sighed, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “Exactly. No more.”
But you wriggled out of his arm long enough to reach for the drink – only to stumble, wobble, and walk directly into George’s chest.
He caught you before you hit the floor, hands steady around your waist.
“See?” he said softly. “This is why you stay with me.”
You looked up at him; cheeks flushed from alcohol and warmth and the way his hands made you feel something you definitely shouldn’t address while drunk.
“But Georgie,” you whined, gripping the front of his hoodie and pulling yourself closer, “I’m fine.”
“You’re very much not.”
“I’m a big girl.”
“You’re a big mess.”
You gasped dramatically in mock offence, but you didn’t move away. If anything, you tucked yourself under his chin like he was your personal pillow.
He hesitated for only half a second before slipping his arms fully around you, holding you close, smoothing his hand up and down your back.
His voice dropped to that quiet, protective tone he only used with you.
“Just stay here, yeah? With me.”
And you did.
Chaos, as expected, continued around you.
The boys shouted, laughed, filmed challenges, almost lost a camera to a spilt pint, moved from pub to pub- and George kept you glued to his side the whole time.
Every time you drifted toward someone else’s drink, he gently steered you away.
Every time you wandered off, he pulled you back by the hood of your jacket.
And every time you got sleepy, he let you lean into him, pressing your face against his shoulder while he rubbed your arm in slow circles.
At one point, you looked up at him – eyes half-lidded, smile loose and crooked.
“George?” you mumbled.
“Yeah?” he asked, brushing hair from your face.
“I like you.”
His hand froze.
“You’re drunk,” he said softly.
“I like you even when I’m sober,” you continued, voice mushy and honest in the way only alcohol could make it. “But I like you more when I’m drunk.”
He swallowed hard.
“Okay,” he whispered, gently cupping the side of your face so you looked at him. “We’re revisiting that when you’re sober.”
You nodded, then immediately lay your head on his chest again, gripping his hoodie in small fistfuls.
He wrapped both arms around you. Holding you so securely it made your chest warm even through the alcoholic haze.
“You’re very clingy,” he whispered against your hair.
“You love it,” you murmured into his hoodie.
He smiled – wide, soft, helpless.
Yeah. He absolutely did.
By the end of the night, you were basically sleepwalking.
George carried your bag. George kept your phone in his pocket. George guided you up every step. George made sure you drank water. George helped you into your coat.
And when you whined, “I’m cold,” he immediately pulled you against him and wrapped his coat half around you too.
“You’re gonna freeze,” you mumbled.
“I don’t care,” he said easily. “You need it more.”
And when you shivered again, he just held you tighter, chin resting on your head.
“Georgie,” you whispered, voice small and tired. “Thank you.”
He kissed the top of your hair before he realised what he’d don’t.
His cheeks burned.
Yours warmed.
“Let’s get you home,” he said quickly, still blushing. “Before you decide to join another random group of strangers like last time.”
You gasped. “They were my friends.”
“You met them twenty seconds earlier,” he deadpanned.
You giggled, and he laughed softly, even as he kept you pulled safely against him.
When you got to your door, you swayed slightly. He steadied you, placing a hand on the side of your face to tilt your gaze to him.
“You good?”
You were staring at his lips.
“Mmhm.”
He cleared his throat. “I-I’m gonna text you in the morning. And you’re gonna drink some water. And sleep. And not cry about anything. Okay?”
You smiled, leaning into his palm.
He melted.
And then-
“Georgie?” you whispered.
“Yeah?”
“Can we cuddle?”
His breath caught.
“Not tonight,” he said gently. “You’re too drunk, love.”
You pouted dramatically. “But you’re soft and warm.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re gonna kill me.”
He kissed your forehead softly.
Warmly.
Lingering a bit too long.
“Goodnight,” he said, voice low.
“Night, Georgie.”
You stepped inside.
He only left when the door clicked shut. And even then, he stood there smiling like an idiot.
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summary: All the times Will has teased you and the one time you tease him back | Will x fem! reader
notes: finally a Will fic!
content: Will being a tease, slightly suggestive at the end but it's mostly fluff
The first time you realise Will might be doing it on purpose is in the stupidest way possible.
It’s a filming day for a group video, chaotic, loud, full of half-shouted jokes, and camera batteries dying every twelve minutes. You’re sitting on the sofa scrolling through shot notes when Will crosses the room, sunglasses pushed into his hair, sleeves shoved up his arms.
He drops down beside you. Too close.
Not, oh, we accidentally sat near each other close.
Deliberate close.
His thigh bumps yours. He doesn’t move it away.
You glance up, brows raising.
He smirks.
“Hope you’re taking notes on how great I look today,” he says, stretching his arms behind the sofa in that way that is not normal human posture. His bicep flexes next to your face.
You scoff, pretending to recheck your notes.
“I’d need a whole new notebook for the ego alone.”
He grins like you walked right into it.
“Better order one now, then, yeah?”
He doesn’t look away when he says it, not even a flicker, just holds your gaze. All smug and unbothered, until you are the first to break eye contact.
That’s the moment you realise:
He knows exactly what he’s doing.
The second time is worse.
You’re both in the kitchen during a break, everyone else outside. You’re leaning over the counter, reading off the filming schedule, hair falling forward, when he slips behind you – no hesitation – hands on your waist as he reaches around for a mug.
Not a casual brush.
Smooth, confident, intentional.
“Excuse me, love,” he murmurs, low enough that you feel it more than hear it.
Your brain short-circuits.
He doesn’t even immediately move away. He just lingers behind you for a heartbeat, like he’s checking what reaction he gets… and based on the tiny smirk when you turn, he’s definitely happy with what he got.
“You could’ve just asked me to hand you the mug,” you mutter.
“Where’s the fun in that?”
He taps the counter twice, like he’s signing off a point he just won, and strolls out, whistling as he goes.
You stand there a full ten seconds after he’s gone, staring at nothing.
It becomes a consistent thing from then on.
Car rides together mean his hand resting on the back of your seat, thumb brushing your shoulder.
Filming days mean sitting next to you whenever possible - legs angled toward you, attention pulled like static.
You complain out loud once, jokingly, that he’s doing it on purpose.
He looks you dead in the eyes and says, “What if I am?”
Like it’s nothing.
Like he enjoys watching you malfunction.
You don’t admit to yourself how much you enjoy it back.
୨⎯ <3 ⎯୧
By the time anyone else notices, you’ve already lost the internal war of pretending you don’t like it.
It starts during a group hangout. Everyone’s at Freezy’s, drinks in hand, music low and chill. You’re sitting cross-legged on the rug, scrolling through your phone, when Will drops down behind you on the sofa – close enough that his knee nudges your back.
He doesn’t say hi.
He just starts absently playing with the ends of your hair.
Like it’s his.
Tobi walks past, glances between you two, and lets out the most judgmental ohhhhh okay face you’ve ever seen. You glare at him, but he just smirks like he’s watching the best slow-burn show of his life.
Will?
Completely unfazed.
Probably aware.
Definitely entertained.
The next one is somehow worse – because he doesn’t even look at you when he does it.
You’re standing outside mid-shoot, it’s cold, and you’re hugging yourself for warmth. His jacket isn’t even offered; he just steps up beside you, slips an arm around your shoulders, and keeps talking to Chris like nothing changed.
No “hey, are you cold?”
No “you okay?”
Just:
Arm. Around. You
You try not to lean into him. You fail miserably within twenty seconds.
Chris clocks it, glances at you, then at Will, then back at you with a smirk that absolutely says oooooh so THAT’S happening.
Will catches the look, raises one eyebrow like and What about it, and doesn’t move his arm.
You spend the rest of the afternoon pretending your cheeks are red from the cold.
Then comes the moment that almost breaks him.
You’re both waiting for an uber after another shoot. Everyone else already gone. It’s quiet, streetlights painting the pavement gold, everything gentle and quiet.
You laugh at something he says – a soft one, small and real.
He looks at you differently.
Not smug.
Not teasing.
Warm.
And for a second, he looks like he might say something honest. He shifts slightly towards you-
Your Uber pulls up.
The moment breaks.
And he covers it with a smirk like he didn’t just nearly confess on a pavement at 1 AM.
“Don’t miss me too much,” he says as you climb in.
You roll your eyes.
You don’t say “I already do.
୨⎯ <3 ⎯୧
By the time the sidemen party rolls around, you are doomed.
You don’t even know what they’re celebrating anymore. Some subscriber milestone, brand deal, who knows, because the second you see Will walk in, shirt slightly undone, sleeves rolled up, grin arrogant-
You know this night is going to kill you.
He finds you within ten minutes.
Not by accident.
Not even remotely.
Leans one hand on the wall next to you; crowd loud behind you, bass rumbling through the floor, soft amber lights catching in his eyes like he knows every cheat code to make you squirm.
“You clean up well,” he says, gaze travelling, not subtly, from your shoes up to your mouth.
“You’re unbearable,” you shoot back, mostly to keep the blush from showing on your face.
“Yeah?” He leans in a fraction closer.
“And yet here you are, still choosing to stand next to me.”
You hate that he’s right.
You hate more that you’re smiling.
At some point, Talia walks by and mutters to Lux, “They just need to fuck each other at this point,” and you both pretend not to hear.
You need a drink.
Or several.
Because somewhere between the first teasing comment and the way he brushes against your lower back when guiding you through the crowd, you realise you may combust before midnight.
And Will?
He’s in his absolute element.
Smug. Lounging with confidence like he was born in it.
Hands always finding you – steering, steadying, touching.
He’s been winning this game for weeks.
And he has no idea you’re about to change the rules.
୨⎯ <3 ⎯୧
A few more drinks, more teasing, more of him leaning down to talk close to your ear because “too loud in here, love.”
Hand on your waist again.
Thumb brushing back and forth like he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it.
Except he does.
Of course he does.
Half the room knows he’s shameless.
What he doesn’t know is that you’ve hit your limit of being the flustered one.
When you and a few others drift toward a corner booth, he naturally takes a seat at the end, long legs stretched, looking like he owns the place. You slide in beside him-
-but then the booth fills up more quickly than expected: Tobi, Lux, Faith, Ethan – everyone shuffled around, and by the time everyone’s settled, there’s one solution if you want to stay seated:
his lap
He glances up at you, slow, lazy, confident,
“You can sit here if you want,” he says, like he hasn’t been mentally devouring you with his eyes all night.
He thinks you’ll hesitate.
Or blush.
Or derail.
You don’t
You swing a leg over and sit down – fully committed, easy, casual, like you’ve done it a hundred times.
Will stops breathing.
You feel his chest going still under you, one blink too slow, his hand instinctively catching your waist like he needs to steady himself, not you.
You don’t look at him at first.
You just fix your dress, place your hands neatly on the table, and keep chatting with Tobi across the table.
Unbothered.
Untouched.
Checkmate.
It takes him a solid five seconds before he gets his composure back – five seconds where everyone at the booth is silently enjoying the fact that Will Lenney has finally been flustered into silence.
Then you hear him exhale quietly, and a soft laugh under his breath.
His hand settles again on your waist.
Not tentative now. Secure, anchored.
He leans in, voice low enough that only you hear:
“Alright… so that’s how we’re playing tonight.”
You don’t look at him. That’s part of the victory.
“Something wrong?”
“Oh, not at all,” he murmurs, recovering too well for your sanity, “just wasn’t expecting you to finally admit you like sitting on me this much.”
Your pulse spikes.
The man is evil.
You tilt your head slightly, finally meeting his eyes. Deliberately unimpressed.
“Maybe I just needed a seat.”
His mouth curves, his slow, lethal confidence flooding back.
“Feel free to keep it,” he says, thumb pressing lightly into your hip, “I’m not planning on letting you get up anyway.”
The worst part?
You don’t want to.
The conversation with the group carries on around you, but the real conversation is silent. Pulsing through the flex of his hand on your waist, your thigh resting against his, the warmth of him everywhere.
Eventually, the others trail off towards the bar, leaving just the two of you in the booth. The music is loud, but not loud enough to drown the shift in the air.
He tilts his head, studying you with that lazy half-smile. The one he uses right before a punchline.
“See,” he says quietly, “all this time you thought I was the one being a tease.”
You raise a brow.
“Pretty sure you were.”
His eyes darken. Warm but not heavy, with more honesty than he’s ever allowed to surface on purpose.
“Nah,” he says softly, fingers brushing your waist again.
“I was just waiting for you to notice.”
It’s not a confession
But it's not not one.
You don’t look away this time
A tiny smile pulls at your lips as you lean forward, close enough that your nose nearly brushes his.
“Consider me noticed then.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh, real and unguarded, before his forehead gently meets yours.
For once, he’s the flustered one, not you.
And he loves it.
Because this time, finally, he isn’t the only one accepting the pull you have towards each other.
(a/n ! : first fic! also, yes everything is in third person, I'm a retired wattpad oc writer. Sue me.)
Reader hadn’t been at the club for long—at least, she didn’t think she had. Time was a bit of a blur by now. She’d lost track of her friends, her phone battery was dead, and she was definitely a few vodka cokes past “just tipsy.”
Her fingers curled around the crystal glass that held yet another free drink—cheers to the bloke who’d handed it over like she was his good deed for the night. He had that unmistakable American accent, the frat-boy look, and a grin that screamed holiday fling. She gave him a polite smile, then turned away, heels clicking against the sticky floor as she made her way back towards the dance floor, scanning the crowd for her friends—or her next victim.
The lace hem of her skirt inched higher with every sway of her hips, and she grimaced as she shoved past a pair of overly enthusiastic girls shrieking to some remix she didn’t recognise. God, she really hoped she didn’t sound like that when she was drunk.
Her eyes darted across the dance floor, skimming past bodies until they locked onto a pair of striking blue eyes. He was sitting a few metres away under the hazy purple lights, and hell, he was good-looking. Brown curls falling into a mullet that actually worked, biceps stretching the sleeves of his shirt, long lashes, perfect lips—the whole package.
He was watching her too. Had been, by the looks of it. The half-smile, the way he leaned forward with his elbows on the table while his mates chatted away—yeah, he knew her little routine. The flirt, the grind, the free drink, and the quick getaway.
Her tongue flicked across her lower lip, mouth suddenly dry. Usually, the guys she reeled in were average at best—cocky blokes who thought charm alone made up for everything else. Spoiler alert: it didn’t.
But this one? This one was different. Attractive. Dangerous, maybe.
She considered retreating—back to the bar, back to pretending the long eye contact hadn’t happened. Or she could risk walking over there and possibly making a total fool of herself in front of his mates.
Yeah, no. Her feet stayed glued to the floor.
The music shifted—some bass-heavy remix that rattled through her chest, teeth feeling funny—and she took a slow sip of her drink, pretending not to notice that he was still looking at her. Her heart thudded hard enough she swore he could probably see it through her chest.
He said something to one of his mates, then looked back at her. That damn smile again. Subtle, confident, like he already knew she wasn’t going anywhere. She hated that it worked.
She could feel her pulse jump when he finally stood up. Oh, he was taller than she expected—of course he was. Because the universe just loved to throw her off. He said something to his mates, got a few knowing smirks in return, and then started making his way towards her.
Every instinct screamed at her to look away, to pretend to be busy or lost in the music, but she couldn’t. Her breath caught somewhere between her ribs as he got closer, weaving easily through the crowd like he’d done this a hundred times before.
He stopped just in front of her, close enough that she could smell his cologne—woody, a bit musky, expensive enough that she knew he wasn’t your average broke uni boy.
“Enjoying yourself?” he asked, voice smooth with that lazy drawl that sent a shiver straight down her spine.
She tilted her head, smirk tugging at her lips. “Trying to,” she said, raising her glass slightly. “You gonna offer to buy the next one or just stare all night?”
He laughed—low, warm, and unfairly attractive. “Guess that depends. You gonna run off again once you get it?”
Touché.
Her grin widened. “Maybe. Guess you’ll have to take the risk.”
He chuckled again, stepping just a little closer, blue eyes gleaming under the flashing lights. “Yeah, I think I’m good with that.”
And just like that, she knew she was in trouble.
—
Reader had no idea how long she and George—George, she actually remembered his name—had been talking at the club. Or flirting. Or whatever that hazy, tipsy blur between laughing too loud and thinking this guy might actually be The One counted as. Somewhere between her fifth vodka coke and him calling her “trouble” with that stupidly charming grin, she’d apparently decided they were soulmates.
So, waking up the next morning in a bed she didn’t recognise, in a room she didn’t recognise, with a heavy arm draped over her waist? Not exactly part of the dream.
It took her half a second to clock it—and another two to internally scream. She was wearing nothing but a shirt that wasn’t hers, one that smelt suspiciously like George’s cologne.
Oh, bloody hell.
Shit.
Shit.
Shit.
She froze, eyes wide, brain lagging like a dodgy Wi-Fi connection. The warmth pressed against her back wasn’t just a duvet—it was him. His soft, even breathing told her he was still asleep, thank god.
Carefully, she tilted her head enough to peek at the bedside table. Two phones on charge. A glass of water. Painkillers neatly set out.
She blinked. Well, okay then. So, he might’ve been a freak in the sheets, but he was also… considerate? That was a combo she didn’t see coming.
She laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to piece together the night before. Bits came back in flashes—him laughing at something she’d said, his hand on the small of her back, that stupidly hot smile that made her forget her own name for a second. And then… yeah.
Nothing.
Just a blackout blur wrapped in bad decisions and cheap vodka.
The arm around her shifted, pulling her a bit closer. She went rigid, holding her breath like that’d somehow make her invisible. His chest was warm against her back, steady heartbeat thumping against her spine.
Well, at least he’s alive. That’s a start.
What was the plan here? Sneak out before he woke up? Play it cool and pretend she totally remembered everything? Maybe pray he didn’t either?
She slowly lifted the duvet, peeking down at herself—still in his shirt, nothing else.
Great.
Classic walk-of-shame attire.
Her clothes had to be somewhere, probably scattered around the room like sad little breadcrumbs from her bad decisions.
A quiet groan sounded behind her, and she froze again. He was waking up. Of course he was.
“Morning,” came his voice, low and rough, that kind of sleepy tone that should’ve been illegal.
She swallowed hard, forcing a nervous laugh. “Uh… morning. So, um… fun night?”
He chuckled softly, still half-asleep. “From what I remember, yeah. You nicked my shirt, though.”
She glanced down, tugging at the oversized fabric. “Yeah, well, you didn’t exactly give me time to pack a bag, did ya?”
He cracked one eye open, smirking. “Fair point.”
He laughed again—properly this time—and the sound did something weird to her chest.
Bloody hell, he was even better-looking in daylight.
The soft morning light spilled through the half-open blinds, hitting his face just right, catching on those curls and the scruff along his jaw.
Unfair, really.
No man should look that good after a night out.
She sat up slowly, trying not to make it obvious that her head was spinning and her dignity was hanging on by a thread. “So… uh, where exactly am I?” she asked, glancing around the room. It was surprisingly clean—dark sheets, a few posters, a gaming setup in the corner. Not the usual bachelor-pigsty she’d expected.
“Couple streets from the club,” he said, stretching lazily. “You were pretty set on not catching an Uber alone.”
Her face heated instantly. “Right. Yeah. Responsible me, love that for her.”
He grinned, watching her try to smooth down her wild hair. “You snore, by the way.”
She whipped her head around. “I do not!”
“Do too,” he teased, eyes gleaming. “But it’s kinda cute.”
That shut her right up. She groaned, burying her face in her hands. “God, just kill me now.”
He chuckled again, reaching over to hand her the glass of water from the bedside table. “Nah, can’t do that. You still owe me breakfast for stealing my shirt.”
She peeked at him through her fingers, lips twitching. “You’re seriously using that as leverage?”
summary : you want more with george — more than just him in your bed
notes : lovely little request — i love this song so deeply , i haven’t cracked out a george fic in a hot while so this was nice to write
content : friends with benefits ,, angst ,, brief smut ,, reader uses a guy to get back at george (i don’t condone this lol) ,, george is kind of an oblivious prick
taglist : @italianclarke @wherethezoes-at @sdmnpact @bambilenny @clarkeyscherry @bambidollstar @willnees @bunbunbl0gs @hlovery11 @loveheart-123 @toomuchaintenough
─────── YOU WERE SURROUNDED by the warmth provided by your blanket, wrapped up in bed with an old television show playing from the tv on your bedroom wall. You weren't really paying much attention to what was going on on it, too engrossed in the mindless scrolling you were doing on Twitter.
Your thumb paused over a clipped video of George and some girl interacting in his most recent video. A bitter feeling of jealousy rose from your stomach and up to your chest.
You knew that realistically, you had no right to be annoyed. You two weren't in a relationship, you just had casual sex from time to time. Friends with benefits, is what he had called it when he originally proposed the idea to you. No strings attached, is the rule you added afterwards. You weren't allowed to catch feelings for him, and he wasn't allowed to catch feelings for you.
So why was this feeling of envy returning every time you saw him talk to a girl. He was a confident man, charming and witty, undeniably attractive as well, so it was no surprise that he received a lot of female attention, but still.
Recently, you'd been second guessing everything. What if you hadn't told him to not catch feelings for you? What if you hadn't told yourself to not catch feelings for him? Would things be different by now? Would you have both accepted the inevitability of falling in love from having constant intimate nights wrapped up in the sheets and sharing the same slip of air between your pressed-together bodies?
Who knows?
Because that wasn't your reality.
You were in bed, moping away at your own decisions while he was out doing God knows what.
Your phone dinged with a notification
George: You home? x
You: Yeah x
George: Busy?😉x
You: Not for you x
It was a blatant attempt at flirting, and you wondered if he'd even pick up on it.
George: What I like to hear x
You couldn't help the grin that stretched across your face at his equally flirtatious response. You got up, making your bed and fixing your room up so it didn't look like a disgusting cesspit of clothes and empty food containers.
You also changed out of the bambi-themed primark pyjamas you'd bought yourself on a whim, and got into some grey cotton shorts and a white spaghetti-strap tank top.
By the time you were somewhat pleased with your appearance, there was a knock at the door and your heart rate spiked.
Why were you feeling like this? Why was he getting you so giddy after all this time.
You shuffled to the front door, unlocking it and pulling it open.
“Hi.” You smiled.
“Hey, you alright?” George asked, walking in and hugging you before kicking his shoes off.
“Yeah, all good. Want a drink?”
The pair of you made your way into your kitchen as you made him a cup of tea, the clinking of the metal against ceramic filling the silence.
You handed him the warm cup and leaned back against your island, lips pursed as you watched him. Your eyes travelled over his form, clad in grey joggers and an old football shirt.
He looked up at you mid-sip, smirking into the mug before setting it down behind him on the marble counter.
“So …”
“So …” You copied, gnawing the inside of your cheek.
Before you knew it, you were perched on the edge of your counter legs spread wide with George’s head buried into your neck, his thrusts slow but sharp.
You breathed heavily and moaned down his ear, fingers digging into the skin on his upper back, clinging to him for dear life as he stretched your inner walls out.
He reached down with one hand, grabbing your ankle and moving it so your foot was planted on the counter, giving him a better angle and more room to work with.
A sharp gasp flew from your mouth as he grazed your clit with his thumb. He swallowed your sounds with his lips, tongue rolling against your own as you moved together in that familiar rhythm; your hands in his hair and gripping his bicep, his hands between your legs and gripping your hip, mouths entwined.
Your heart wouldn’t stop smacking against your rib cage, and though it was due to the impending orgasm you could feel building in your stomach, there was another addition to this.
Your brain was running wild.
You were glad you were at the early stages where you still had comprehension of what left your mouth and you weren’t completely cock-drunk yet, otherwise things would’ve been said and it would’ve spoiled everything.
But the closer your orgasm came and the more your legs shook, the more you could feel yourself losing that feeling of awareness.
I love you— don’t say it.
I love you— don’t say it.
I love you— don’t say it.
“Oh my God, George— fuck!” You sobbed out, legs locking around his waist as your orgasm crashed over you. “Fuck, fuck, I love you—“
You slumped against him, body covered in a thin layer of sweat as your cheek smushed against his shoulder.
His hand gently trailed up your spine and you felt his throat bob with a heavy swallow.
You blinked then, realisation smacking you like a cargo train. You pulled back, hands on his shoulder.
“I’m so sorry—“
“Hey, it’s alright, don’t worry about it—“
“I seriously didn’t mean for that to come out—“
“It’s fine—“
The pair of you were just rambling over each other, your words a panicked, spewed mess while he tried to keep up with whatever you were saying.
“Hey.” He said firmly but gently, cupping your face, “It’s alright, yeah? You didn’t mean it. I get it, it’s intense, sometimes you say things you don’t mean. It’s no bother. You didn’t mean to say it, and that’s fine. Right?”
‘No! No I did mean it!’ You wanted to scream at him, ‘I did mean it and I love you and I can’t stop the way my brain relates every little thing back to you. I cant stop the way my head snaps in the direction of any mention about you.’
He consumed you, body and soul, but you could never tell him. That would be going against your own rules.
“Right.” You nodded, swallowing thickly, “Right, no, yeah. Didn’t mean it. Sorry.”
He pulled out then, reaching for your clothes and handing them to you.
You dressed swiftly, cheeks enflamed as you mentally scolded yourself.
When you turned back around, George was also back in his joggers and shirt, phone in his hand as he scrolled.
“Do you want anything before I go?” He asked, looking at you.
You shook your head, “No, that’s okay. Y-You can go now.”
“Reader,” He sighed, picking up on your awkwardness and attempt at avoiding him, “I don’t want things to be awkward now, I get it, okay? Don’t worry. I’m not gonna think different of you—“
“Okay, George! I get it! I said I love you and I didn’t mean it! We both get it! It was a mistake! Just … Just go when your Uber gets here.” You snapped, running a hand over your hair.
He gulped, nodding and holding his phone up, “He’s only five minutes away, so … I’ll just go now.”
“Okay.”
He chewed his lip, pulling at his beard slightly, “There’s still some of my tea left if you want it.”
“Yeah, cheers.” You mumbled.
“Alright … See you then … I’ll text you when I’m home.”
You raised a hand in acknowledgement of his words, and then he was gone, your apartment door shutting behind him.
You covered your face with your hands, still trying to shield yourself from the shame. They moved round to the back of your neck and you looked up at the ceiling, huffing sharply.
Your gaze found the half empty mug of tea that he’d left behind, and you wrapped your hand around it, sighing at the feeling of it being stone cold.
You poured it down the sink and left the mug on the side, retreating back to your bedroom to hide under the covers and weep all night.
─────── A WEEK LATER and you were out with the boys and girls again. George, Chris, Isaac, Arthur and Harry had tagged along, bringing Liv and Becky with them. You were sat in a club, cocktail in hand while on the edge of a booth, George opposite you and Liv beside you. Arthur was next to her, and the three of you were involved in a conversation.
That was until a young lad came up to your table, making a brave attempt at trying to chat you up.
“You alright, beautiful?”
“Yeah, I’m good thank you.” You smiled politely.
“I can’t lie, I’m a bit nervous ‘coz you’re with your mates ‘n that but, like, I thought you were really beautiful and I was just wondering if I could, like, talk to you maybe?”
“Sorry, I am just having a night out with my friends, but I appreciate the gesture.” You said, feeling a bit bad at how dejected he looked.
“Can I get your snap then, or like your Insta?”
“She said no, mate, sorry.” Arthur butt in, worried that he might be one of those guys that doesn’t know when to stop.
“Oh, okay, sorry to bother.” The guy smiled awkwardly, his cheeks red with embarrassment from rejection before he walked away.
You looked across the table at George, who was unbothered, his attention buried into his phone. You clenched your jaw, annoyed that he didn’t even feel half as much jealousy as you did when he was interacting with someone of the opposite gender.
You got out the booth, shuffling after him and tapping him on the shoulder, “I think my friends’ll be alright without me for a moment.”
He grinned and the pair of you walked over to the bar, sitting on adjacent stools.
“My name’s Liam, what’s yours?”
“I’m reader.”
“Nice to meet you, can I just say, you’re absolutely stunnin’?”
“Thank you!” You grinned.
You continued talking to him, sharing what jobs you do and the kind of hobbies you have. He was a nice lad, genuinely, but there was no spark. There was no giddiness that curdled in your stomach. There was just something about him that wasn’t doing it for you.
He wasn’t George.
And that was the problem.
It was all going smoothly until he leaned in for a kiss.
You backed up, “Woah.”
“Oh, sorry.” He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck.
“No worries, just … not the kinda girl to kiss when I just met someone.” You smiled awkwardly.
“Oh, right.” He pursed his lips.
You twirled your straw in your drink, fixating on the way the colours mixed together. The air was now awkward and you really wanted to get out of it.
“Y’alright, reader?”
George.
“Yep, I’m all good.” You nodded, giving him a thumbs up.
“You sure? He bothering you?”
“No, George, he’s not. In fact, you’re the one bothering me.” You slammed a hand on the surface of the bar and got up, storming off.
Your heels clicked on the floor, palms slapping into the doors as you pushed them open and left the club.
“Hey! Reader, wait!” George called after you.
You gasped in shock at the pouring rain that lashed down onto you the moment you stepped outside. You were immediately drenched head to toe, but you were so angry that you didn’t let it deter you. You kept marching down the street, unbothered to the fact that your hair was clinging to every bit of skin it could find.
“Oi! Where are you going?” His hand latched around your wrist, spinning you around.
“Home!” You shouted at him, now facing him.
“It’s tipping it down, let me buy you an Uber. We can go back to mine, if you want—“
“No! I- … I don’t want to do that anymore, George!” You yelled over the sound of the rain.
“What do you mean?”
“I can’t do it anymore! The casual sex! I can’t!”
“I-I mean … That’s fine, but … why?”
“You don’t care about me!”
“Of course— Reader, what?! Of course I care about you!”
“No! You care about this.” You gestured to your body, “You don’t care about me like I care about you.”
He just stared at you blankly, his shirt clinging to his torso and his perfectly styled hair becoming a mess on his head.
He still looked beautiful.
He still looked like home.
“You don’t get jealous when guys flirt with me like I do when girls flirt with you! You don’t … You don’t look for me in a room full of people when you’re nervous like I do for you.”
“I thought we agreed that this was just sex? I made my motives clear and so did you! You knew what I was about! You chose to do this too!”
“I know, George! I know!” You were crying now, but you couldn’t quite make out what was tears and what was rain, “I know, and I’m sorry! But things changed. Things happened and … I meant it.”
“What?”
“I meant it. Last week. When I said I love you. I meant it. I meant it, and I’m not sorry about it. I’m sorry I broke our rules, but I’m not sorry for loving you … I just wish you loved me back.”
“I do.” He blurted out.
“Don’t.” You chuckled humourlessly, “Don’t pity me.”
“I don’t. I’m not.” George shook his head. “I love you. I promise you. I do. I love you too.”
“Then why don’t you show it?! Why don’t you look at me like I look at you!”
“I do! I do! You’re just too busy trying to make me jealous to even notice it! Reader, I look at you like you hung the stars in the sky, because in my mind, you did. I love you. Seriously. I do.”
“Then love me harder, George.” You croaked out.
He cupped your face in his hands, using his thumbs to brush away the stray hairs and baby hairs that had stuck to your face, and then he kissed you.
It was soft and hard all at once. Gentle, yet passionate, and filled with intent. This wasn’t like the drunken kiss that started this whole ordeal, this had purpose. It had meaning. It was heavy, and it weighed on your heart in a way that confused you slightly.
“Like that?” He panted against your lips, “Or do you want me to love you in the way that I notice the little things? The way you snore and murmur in your sleep. The way your eyebrows twitch when you lie, or the way your nose scrunches up subconsciously when you don’t like the idea of something. Or maybe the way you always make me a cup of tea and make me feel at home despite the fact we’re just supposed to be hooking up. Is that how you want me to love you?”
You swallowed thickly, eyes swiping over every inch of his face, trying to detect any sense of lying. Trying to see if he was just saying all this to keep you around as a warm body. But you couldn’t find anything.
He was laying his heart out to you, and you were speechless.
You nodded, sniffing, “Exactly like that.”
“Good. So let me be your boyfriend and do it all over again, but louder. Let me be able to love you in public. Let me not have to worry about you running to another guy, because, reader, if I’m being honest … the thought of you with someone else is infuriating.”
Your eyes flickered from his to his lips before you kissed him again. Your hands clasped around the back of his neck, pulling him down to you.
The rain still pelleted down onto you, but it didn’t matter, because George had enough warmth and protection for the both of you.
“Please.” He whispered against your mouth, “Please let me be your boyfriend.”
“As long as I can be your girlfriend.” You grinned.
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Imagine while having a sleepover with bsf ArthurTv the reader has a wet dream of him while they’re both sleeping in the same bed and he wakes her up and finishes the dream for her.🤭
WET DREAMS︱arthur frederick
contains: reader having a wet dream about arthur, smut, sub!arthur, dom!reader, unprotected sex, fluff afterwards.
word count: 1.5k
a/n: i love him your honour. but good lawwwwd that was hot. i was literally blushing whilst writing it help. i wanna try write for arthur more i feel like i don’t write enough for him. especially sub arthur 🤗
you and arthur had been best friends for some years now, starting off as roommates when you were new to the city of london. he helped you a lot when you were newly moved, and a refreshing friendship started from there.
you appreciated him more than he’d ever know. he was always the one to come to your aid when you called, no matter the circumstances he was in. there were a few times arthur had left shoots to come help you, and you’d see comments every now and then ‘did anyone notice that arthur disappeared at *time stamp*?’
but they weren’t the only comments you’d notice. some fans, although it seemed majority now, shipped the two of you. you’d see fan edits of you and arthur together, and more than once you’d been caught liking and favouriting them.
you’d be lying to yourself if you said that over the last few months a new attraction towards arthur had sparked. you just didn’t know from where it had come from. all you knew was that sometimes you’d sit behind the scenes and admire everything about him. but the feelings scared you a lot, the number one fear for you was losing your friendship with him. which is why you had no intentions of telling him about said feelings.
tonight, arthur was staying at your flat. the two of you were travelling the next morning, you were driving, so it would’ve been easier for him to stay the night. it wouldn’t be anything new given he had stayed over plenty of times. he even stayed in the same bed as you, due to your flat being a one bedroom.
“arthur, i’m going to bed now!” you yell from the bathroom whilst moving your hair up and away from your face.
“coming now! i’m quite tired too, and we have a long day tomorrow.” he speaks, pushing the door to your room open.
the pair of you crawled under the covers, the crisp coldness nipping at your bare skin. you spoke for a few minutes, doing what you usually did when he stayed over, before rolling over to face the opposite direction to fall asleep.
for whatever reason, arthur was struggling to fall asleep tonight. which was weird for him. he was known for the fact he fell asleep quickly amongst his friend group, specifically in your bed because it’s ‘comfier’ but everyone knew it was because he was sleeping in the same bed as you.
a few hours into the night, arthur rolled on his back with a huff, still not completely falling asleep, only here and there for a few minutes or what felt like seconds.
he felt your body jolt after a few minutes of staring at the dark ceiling, his head snapped to the side to check if you were awake. but you were still sound asleep, maybe you were just having a nightmare.
a few seconds later a groggily moan came out of your mouth before you muttered his name, that made his eyes shoot open. did you just moan his name? were you asleep? or maybe faking to get his attention? no, couldn’t be that.
you repeated the moan again, only definitely moaning his name this time. arthur’s mouth went dry at the noise, he could feel himself getting hard beneath the covers for which he cursed himself silently.
“mmm arthur, feels good.” you whined in your sleep, shifting your position once again. arthur’s eyes went wide at the confirmation that you were definitely moaning his name. he just didn’t know what to do at all, was he to leave you alone or wake you up?
his cock was now painfully hard, throbbing in his boxers at the sound of your sweet noises. but he was mentally reminding himself, you’re asleep, you don’t even know what’s happening right now. but he couldn’t help but ponder that you could be having a wet dream about him. that made him go insane.
he was so needy, bucking his hips at nothing, begging to feel some kind of friction. arthur let out another loud sigh, too loud this time, you stirred awake with a groan.
“what’s the time?” you asked groggily, rubbing your eyes, “and why are you awake?”
“just couldn’t sleep.” arthur immediately covers the lower part of his body, which didn’t help whatsoever because you noticed.
“what’re you covering arthur?” you ask, your tone dropping into something suggesting. you weren’t stupid, you knew he would’ve probably heard you, you knew you spoke in your sleep. but he was hard, that was something you didn’t expect.
“uh- uh nothing. what? nothing!” he stammered, he knew you’d seen it. in fact, you couldn’t keep your eyes off of it.
“are you hard arthur?” you ask, teasing him slightly as you roll onto your stomach to face him.
“oh god! uh, i’m so sorry.” he rambled, quick to apologise which made you laugh, “what’s funny? this isn’t funny.”
“you don’t have to apologise.” you chuckle lightly.
“no?” he raises his eyebrows, hands relaxing slightly at his sides from previously having a tight grip on the covers.
“no.” you hum, sitting up, he followed your action straight away, “but what’s made you like this?” you ask, pretending to be blissfully unaware.
“uh- you were um, i think you were dreaming — about me. you were moaning, and moaning my name a lot.” he explains, scratching his neck awkwardly.
you let out a light laugh, “you got hard at me moaning your name in a dream, arthur?” you said. he grimaced at how stupid you made him sound, his face was flushed in embarrassment.
“yes..”
“what were you thinking about?” you ask once again.
“oh, um. about how i wish it was real, and not a dream you were having.” he pursed his lips. he was in such disbelief that he was spilling his dirty thoughts to his best friend. he was turned on by his best friend, but his best friend was also moaning his name on a dream. arthur wasn’t exactly sure that he wasn’t dreaming right now.
“oh? you wish it was real hm?” you raise your eyebrows whilst trailing your nails down his arm which made his mouth drop, but nothing came out.
“yeah. yeah, i wish it was real.”
at that confession, you slowly rise to sit on your knees. you slowly pulled the covers from over the bulge in his pants, he was watching your every move like a hawk. anything you’d do right now was going to catch him off guard.
“how bout we make it real then? would you like that?” your voice sounded sultry, it was heavenly to arthur.
“yes. god — yes please.”
you undressed yourself painfully slow, making him watch as you move at a slow pace, teasing him further. his hands were practically twitching at his sides, he needed to touch you, he needed it now. he needed you, now. he couldn’t wait any longer.
slowly, you pull his pyjama pants and boxers down to his ankles. biting your lip at the unexpected size of him. you swung your leg over his hip, now straddling him, your nails dragging down his chest making him grunt. he was so impatient, and you could see it on his face.
“what do you want, arthur? talk to me.”
“i want to fuck you. for you to ride me — please. please, reader.” you could hear the impatient whine in his tone which made a smirk appear on your lips.
you line him up with your entrance before slowly sinking down onto him, your bottom lip between your teeth.
“oh god. yes.” he moans, you loved that arthur was a man that wasn’t afraid to let you know how good you felt around him. he let out all his moans and grunts.
“how does it feel? tell me.” you demanded, moving your hips in circles slowly, watching every facial expression that he was making, listening to every little sound that escaped his mouth.
“feels so good, reader. don’t stop — please don’t stop.”
and so you didn’t, you leaned backwards balancing on his thighs as you rode him. he watched you with pure awe in his eyes at the fact you were on top of him like this. never did he ever think that his fantasies of you riding him would come true, especially not like this. he was feeling way too much pleasure to pay attention to how caught of guard he was and the fact he was having sex with his best friend.
“gonna cum for me arthur? yeah?” you speak in a high voice, also feeling your own orgasm creeping up on you.
“yes, yeah. let me, please.” he gasps, his words stumbling over each other as his hands grasp your waist as you bounce on him.
“go ahead baby.”
arthur lets out a strangled moan before spilling inside you, leaning his head back on the headboard as his hips stutter against yours.
he lays there quietly after coming down from his high, looking at you with a certain sparkle in his eye. his large hands caressing your sides as you come down from your own high too, biting his lip as he watches your thighs shake at his sides.
“thank you.” he speaks up, making you chuckle.
“you’re thanking me for sex?” you question with a laugh.
“no, for trusting me.” he pauses for a minute with a smile on his face, “i love you.”
Arthur and George didn't often have guests over, and if they did it was usually one of the boys. So they never had any reason to clean the flat more than usual. But Arthur couldn't help it. How was he supposed to invite Y/N over to listen to his music when there were day old coffee mugs dotted around the living room and a pile of dirty plates next to their sink. It would be embarassing.
Which was why Arthur was busy rushing around the flat trying to clean and make sure Y/N wouldn't walk in and turn straight back around.
George had stepped out of his room, rubbing a towel through his damp hair, and had immediately stopped in the doorway to their living area and kitchen.
The flat… was spotless. Like, suspiciously spotless.
The faint humming from his roommate gained his attention. A slightly sweaty Arthur was currently wiping down the coffee table with a tea towel.
George narrowed his eyes. “Why are you cleaning? You never clean.”
George’s voice carried from the hallway as he wandered into the living room, damp curls still clinging to his forehead. He looked around like he’d stepped into the wrong flat. The coffee table had been wiped down. The floors were vacuumed. Even the throw blankets on the couch were folded—folded, like they lived in a catalog.
Arthur didn’t even pause. “Y/N is coming over.”
George blinked. “…Y/N?” Arthur had to have been joking.
Arthur straightened, adjusting a speaker on the side table. “Yeah.”
George’s brow creased slightly. “Why?”
“She offered to listen to my music,” Arthur said simply, grabbing his phone and checking the time like this was all very casual. “I mentioned I was working on demos at the pub the other night, and she messaged me the next day on Instagram. Said she was serious about wanting to hear them. So I took her up on it. Invited her round.”
George stood there for a beat, rubbing the back of his neck as he watched Arthur fuss over a coiled cable like it was delicate tech. “Oh.” he said, a little too neutrally.
Arthur finally looked up, catching the tone. He tilted his head. “I thought you were going out anyway. With that girl again — I’ve forgotten her name.” George had mentioned the day before that he had another date planned, with the same girl.
“Sophie.” George muttered, already turning towards the kitchen. He opened the fridge, stared blankly at its contents, and shut it again without grabbing anything.
“Right, Sophie.”
“Not going out till later.” George said after a pause, leaning on the counter and picking at the label on a water bottle that had been left there. “When is Y/N coming over?”
“She said around 5.”
George’s gaze flicked to the clock on the microwave. 4:58.
Arthur followed his gaze to clock. “So any minute now, I guess.”
“Cool.” George mumbled. His eyes then followed Arthur as he began fluffing the cushions on the sofa. “You seem nervous?”
Arthur shot him a glare over his shoulder. “Well yeah, she’s an actual professional. She knows what she’s doing. If she hates my music then I know it’s shit.”
George made a face—subtle, but definitely there. Lips pressed, brows tugged, eyes flicking away.
Arthur caught it. “Don’t worry,” he said dryly, tossing a cushion back into place. “I don’t fancy her or anything.”
George’s head shot up. “I didn’t say you did.”
“You didn’t have to,” Arthur smirked. “I saw that look. Like I’d just kicked your dog.” George didn't say anything as he now fiddled with the towel that was still around his neck. “Come on, I think everyone could see the way you two interacted the other night. I’m not stupid. You fancy her.”
“I barely know her.”
Arthur leaned against the arm of the sofa, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. “Exactly. So just admit it—you fancy her.”
George exhaled sharply. “No.”
Arthur held his stare, unconvinced. “Mate,” George shifted. “She is exactly your type.” Arthur added, not even bothering to hide the grin spreading on his face.
George looked away. “I mean, yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything.”
"Alright.” Arthur shrugged, pushing off the sofa just as the door buzzer rang. George glanced at the door, then back at Arthur. Arthur gave him a look and added with a little smirk, “If you say so.”
He strolled over to the intercom, casually pressing the button to buzz Y/N up. George, still by the kitchen, suddenly looked like he wasn’t sure whether to stay put or dive out the window.
The knock on the door came not thirty seconds later. Arthur threw George one last glance—something between smug and warning—before opening it with a grin.
Y/N stood there in a cropped brown hoodie and flared jeans, her hair loose around her shoulders and her usual confidence in full effect—until her eyes landed on George. But she didn't acknowledge him, yet, eyes going back to Arthur.
“Hey!” Arthur greeting her with a smile on his face, which Y/N reciprocated as she wrapped Arthur in a hug, giving him a quick squeeze before letting go.
“Hey, thank you so much for inviting me over.” Y/N said, continuing to smile at Arthur. She hadn't expected such a quick response from him when she had found his Instagram and messaged him. She just wanted him to know she was serious when she offered to listen to his demos.
“Thank you for coming.”
“Of course.”
She then faced George.
“Hey.” she said, offering him a polite nod. She still wasn't sure how to act around him yet. And there wasn't that flirty grin plastered across his face like usual.
“Hello again.” George replied, arms now crossed, his tone unreadable.
Y/N hesitated. “Long time no see.”
He gave a short laugh. “Yeah.” It had been one week.
Arthur had then disappeared down the hall toward his room—“Gonna grab my laptop”—leaving them alone in the living room.
Y/N stepped further in, setting down her tote on the edge of the coffee table. Her eyes flicked toward George, taking in his jeans, shoes, and shirt. The towel had been discarded on a chair. “What are you all dressed up for?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Another date?”
George looked down at himself, then back at her. “Yeah, actually.”
She blinked. “Oh.” There was a pause—thick and obvious. “Same girl?” she asked casually, trying to play it cool even as her stomach tightened.
“Yeah.”
“Wow,” Y/N said, forcing a smile. “You must like her to get this many dates off you.”
George let out a breath, a quiet kind of laugh. “Just seeing where it goes.”
Y/N nodded, pretending to study the records stacked neatly next to a speaker beside the sofa. Her expression stayed neutral, but something in her chest sank.
George looked like he wanted to say something more—but the sound of Arthur’s footsteps returning saved them from it.
“Right,” Arthur said, dropping onto the sofa and opening his laptop. “You ready, Y/N?”
She turned quickly, with a brighter smile than before. “Absolutely.”
But George could tell—something had shifted. And for the first time that day, he didn’t feel quite so sure about the date he was going on.
Y/N settled onto the couch, smoothing her hands over her jeans as Arthur angled his laptop toward her. He opened a folder on his desktop labeled “Maybe Not Shit” and clicked the first demo.
George hovered for a second in the kitchen, then slowly made his way over to the sofa, sinking into the space beside Arthur.
Y/N was nodding along to the music filling the living room — low-key, guitar-driven, mellow in a way that made her tilt her head and close her eyes to catch the subtle layers. Arthur had been watching her nervously, chewing the inside of his cheek.
After the final chord faded, Y/N blinked back into focus and sat forward on the sofa. “Okay, that was actually really good,” she said, looking at Arthur. “Like, annoyingly good.”
Arthur grinned, visibly relieved. “Yeah?”
“Seriously. There’s something raw about it. It doesn’t feel over-produced.”
George leaned forward with a smirk. “Which is progress, considering the first demo sounded like a rejected Coldplay song from 2006."
Arthur shot him a mock glare. “It was a rough draft, man.”
Y/N laughed under her breath and glanced at George. She felt like she was getting whiplash from his behaviour.
He offered a crooked grin, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “They've all been rough drafts.”
She then turned back to Arthur. “Play the second one?”
Arthur clicked to the next track, and Y/N sank deeper into the couch, pulling a leg up beneath her. She was genuinely impressed—not just by the music, but by how earnest Arthur was about it. He wasn't trying to be someone else. That authenticity was rare.
The second song ended, and Y/N gave another round of thoughtful feedback—what she liked, what she’d maybe rework. Arthur typed notes furiously into his phone.
“Do you ever produce your own stuff?” he asked. “Like, fully solo?”
Y/N nodded. “Sometimes, when I want full control. But I work best bouncing off someone else. Otherwise, I get stuck in my own head.”
Arthur nodded in agreement.
“You two should write together,” George said suddenly, eyes still on the laptop.
Y/N looked over at him, surprised. “You think?”
He shrugged. “You’ve got similar vibes.” he said, his eyes briefly meeting hers.
Arthur raised an eyebrow, half-smiling. “That a rare George Clarkey endorsement?”
“Don’t get used to it,” George muttered, standing up. “I should finish getting ready.”
Y/N’s eyes followed him as he left, her jaw tightening slightly.
Arthur glanced sideways at her. “He’s been weird today.”
“Is he always like that?”
Arthur exhaled a soft laugh. “Honestly? No. This is new.”
Y/N turned back to the laptop. “I’m probably just throwing off his pre-date rhythm.”
But neither of them commented on how George lingered at the edge of the hallway just a little longer before disappearing from view.
The two singers continued to listen to demo's on Arthur's laptop, playing around with sounds and lyrics, Y/N giving suggestions and Arthur trying to write down every one of his notes app. They were really starting to bond over their love for creating music and had lost count of how long had gone by as they reached to the end of the fifth demo on Arthur's laptop.
The fifth demo faded out and Y/N leaned back, letting the quiet settle. “You’ve really got something, Arthur. I mean it.” She had been impressed.
Arthur beamed, clearly trying not to show how much that meant. “Thanks, seriously. It means a lot coming from you.”
From down the hall, there was the low thud of a door opening, followed by the sound of trainers hitting the floorboards. A moment later, George appeared again—hair freshly tousled, jacket in hand, rings on his fingers.
He looked good. Effortlessly good. Annoyingly good.
Y/N blinked as he entered the room.
“Heading out?” Arthur asked, not looking up from his notes.
George nodded, giving Y/N a once-over that was unreadable. “Yeah.”
She offered a polite smile, hugging one arm across her waist. “Well, have fun.”
“Thanks,” George said, then paused. “You staying long?”
“Not sure,” she replied, tone light. “Depends how many secret bangers Arthur’s hiding.”
Arthur chuckled, eyes still on his laptop. “At least two and a half more.”
George smiled faintly but didn’t say anything. For a second, he lingered like he was about to say something else—but then just gave Arthur a fist bump and nodded once more at Y/N.
“Have fun,” he said, and walked toward the door. Y/N watched him go, something twisting quietly in her chest.
The door clicked shut behind him. Arthur tapped at his laptop. “Okay,” he said, glancing up. “Now that the dramatic exit is out of the way, you want to hear the one I hate but can’t delete?”
Y/N forced a smile. “Always.”
But as Arthur queued up the next track, her mind drifted—just for a second—to the way he hadn’t quite looked her in the eye.
Y/N hadn’t meant to stay so late.
What started as listening to a few demos had spiraled into reworking lyrics, pulling apart production choices, and then somehow sitting on the floor with Arthur, debating the greatest debut albums of all time. Pizza boxes scattered across the coffee table—some open, some half-eaten—marked the hours she hadn’t noticed slipping by.
Arthur had just disappeared into his room to find an old notebook when the front door clicked open.
Y/N looked up from her spot on the floor, hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands, legs tucked beneath her. George stepped in, flicking the hallway light off as he went. His keys jangled in his hand, and his jacket was slung over his shoulder.
He stopped mid-step when he spotted her.
“…You're still here?”
Y/N blinked, straightening up slightly. “Yeah, sorry. We got into a bit of a music spiral.”
George nodded slowly, like he was processing it. “Didn’t think you’d still be here.”
“Didn’t mean to overstay,” she said quickly, shifting to stand.
“No—no, you’re fine.” He toed off his shoes by the door. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
She watched him cross to the kitchen, pull open the fridge, and grab a can of something cold. There was a pause. He leaned against the counter, looking at her over the rim of the can.
“How was it?” she asked, mostly to fill the silence.
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“The date.”
“Oh.” A beat. He gave a half shrug. “It was fine.”
Y/N nodded, biting the inside of her cheek.
There was another pause before George added, “You two have been working the whole time?”
“Pretty much,” she said. “Arthur’s got a lot of good stuff. We even tried layering vocals on one.”
George’s mouth tugged into something that could’ve been a smile—or not quite. “Bet he loved that.”
“He was nervous at first. But I think it helped.”
“I’m sure it did,” George said, softer now. “You being here.”
Their eyes met across the room. Something unspoken hung there, just for a moment. Before either of them could break it, Arthur reappeared with a thick notebook in hand, completely unaware of the shift in atmosphere.
“Right,” he said, flopping onto the floor. “You ready for my old lyrics phase? I was really into metaphors about storms for a while.”
Y/N laughed, grateful for the interruption. “Bring it on.”
George lingered in the doorway for a moment longer, then wandered toward his room, glancing back once as he passed them.
She didn’t see it—but Arthur did. And he didn’t miss the look. But he wasn't going to mention it, not to Y/N and not to George.
That was until Y/N's curiosity got the better of her. “What was up with him?” She asked Arthur, who had been flicking through the pages of his notebook.
Arthur glanced up. “I don’t know, he’s been acting weird all day.” Which was the truth.
Y/N pursed her lips, wanting to question Arthur more on the behaviour of his roomate but deciding against it. “Strange.”
“I think you’ve interrupted his flow.” he said, casually. Maybe he shouldn't have been so honest with Y/N but he couldn't help himself. The past few hours they had spent together, bonding over their shared love of music and songwriting, made him feel like he could tell her. That he could trust her.
Y/N looked up, blinking. “Interrupted his flow?”
“Yeah.” Arthur nodded solemnly, then gestured vaguely toward the hallway and George’s closed bedroom door. “He’s just moved to London, he’s finally getting settled. Started dating, seemed like he was enjoying it. Then you blew in like a hurricane.”
“Me?” Y/N laughed, genuinely baffled.
“Yes, you.” Arthur was already laughing, clearly enjoying himself. “You show up all confident and talented, and now he’s acting like someone rewired his brain.”
“I haven’t done anything!”
“Come on, Y/N.” Arthur gave her a look. “Surely you’ve noticed how he acts around you.”
She fiddled with the edge of her hoodie sleeve. “Just thought he was being friendly. Considering we’re probably going to keep bumping into each other and spending more time together.”
“Maybe." Arthur leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "But I’m telling you, the vibe? It’s changed. He was on his little London lad routine—date here, pub there, pint, swipe, repeat—and then boom. Disrupted.”
“I didn’t mean to.”
Arthur smirked. “I didn’t say you meant to. But maybe…” he trailed off thoughtfully. “Maybe he hadn’t really locked it down if it was so easy to disrupt it.”
Y/N went quiet for a second, then gave a small, slightly crooked smile. “That’s weirdly poetic for someone who still rhymes ‘love’ with ‘above.’”
“Hey!” Arthur pointed at her, feigning offence. “Those were experimental lyrics, thank you very much.”
She laughed again, but her eyes drifted toward George’s door. And she wondered—just for a moment—what exactly she’d disrupted.
summary : you and george meet at an influencer event in paris and spend the rest of your holiday messing around
a/n : sorry i’ve been gone for so long i’ve just had no motivation to write anything lol. this one’s a request & it’s quite long x
content : suggestive content ,, sneaking around ,, mostly fluff
─────── YOU’D BEEN FLOWN out to Paris on behalf of a sponsorship amongst other British influencers. It was awkward at first, not knowing anyone there, but you swiftly made friends with the girls — Flo and Liv — and were then introduced to the guys on their behalf.
What you didn’t know was that the guy you’d been eyeing (and he’d been reciprocating) across the bar was associated with your new friends.
You’d been slowly sipping a strawberry daiquiri, eyes flickering over to the most beautiful man you’d ever seen.
Though the lights were dim, you could see his piercing, electric blue eyes focused on you. He had a waterfall of curls on his head, once perfectly styled mullet was now slightly messy, which somehow made him all the more attractive.
He was drinking a beer, taking periodic sips as he laughed with his friends, periodically meeting your eyes through the crowd of people.
When Liv came up to you with her bubbly greeting and gesturing for you to join them, you nodded.
“This is Isaac, Arthur, Flo — you already met — and that’s George.”
You smiled, introducing yourself to them all with little hugs, but you felt something linger in George. Maybe it was his hands around your waist or just the sheer tension and energy between the two of you, but it made your heart threaten to break down your rib cage and leap from your chest.
After a while, you split from them, returning to the bar to order another drink, unaware that George was following behind you.
You felt a soft, gentle hand on your hip and then he spoke low on your ear, “Can I get you a drink?”
Once you’d gotten over how flustered you were, you replied, “I already ordered one, but thanks for offering.”
“Can I buy your next one?”
You smirked, deciding to be a bit bold, “Trying to get me drunk?”
His eyes widened, “No! No, not at all, sorry if it came across that way.”
“Relax, I was messing with you.”
“Right.” He nodded, “Just wanted to do something nice for a pretty lady.”
“Just pretty?” You teased, raising your eyebrows.
“Well, I wanted to say gorgeous but it seemed a bit too bold.” He chuckled.
“Nothing too bold about complimenting a woman.” You shrugged, thanking the bartender as your drink arrived, “Unless you follow it up asking for sex.”
George burst out laughing, “That’s a wild thing for someone to do.”
“Yeah.” You hummed, holding eye contact while taking a sip, “Wild.”
He met your gaze, eyes holding the same taunting, heated energy that yours did.
─────── THE AIR WAS thick and heavy, making it difficult to breathe — and that’s not just because your face was previously buried in George’s hotel room pillows. The lust-filled environment you’d created was incredibly overwhelming whilst simultaneously being incredibly sexy.
You laid beside him, staring at the ceiling while panting and recovering from the tasteful peak you’d both reached together.
He broke the silence, “What do you want to do tomorrow?”
You blinked, turning your head to look at him, “… Sorry?”
“Tomorrow.” He reiterated, “You’re here for the same amount of time as us, right? I’ve got no plans with the other guys, so … what do you want to do?”
“I dunno, what is there to do here?” You shrugged.
George pulled up his phone, researching some places to go in Paris.
“We could go to Montmartre.” He suggested, toying with his moustache with his free hand.
“Where?”
“Montmartre, it’s apparently a village on top of a hill.”
“Yes, George, brilliant idea, take me somewhere that I can’t pronounce.” You giggled.
“I don’t even know if I’m saying it right.” He put his phone back on the bedside table as you sat up.
His hand danced across your bare back, tracing your spine with light touches. You looked back over your shoulder with a dazed smile, absorbing his relaxed and comfortable manner.
“I should go.” You reluctantly whispered.
He hummed, but it was like he wasn’t really considering your words, “Or you could stay.”
“George—“
“You can sleep in one of my shirts, or naked, both is good.” He proposed, “Just … spend the night, yeah?”
“And in the morning?”
“I’ll walk you back to your room, wait for you to get ready, do your makeup — even though you don’t need it.”
“Aren’t you a flirt? Just met me tonight and already throwing in the big ones.” You snorted.
“Well, considering we just fucked, I think a compliment is the least I could do.” George said sincerely, hand still not having left your back, “Besides, who cares if we only met tonight? I can confidently, hands down say, you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”
“That’s a bold claim, Mr Clarke.” You smirked.
“Bold but true.”
─────── MONTMARTE WAS BEAUTIFUL. Thank god the weather was lovely otherwise it would’ve ruined the whole experience. You took a tour of the Sacré-Cœur, and he took some photos of you, then you went for a little walk around the village, trying your absolute hardest not to trip over the wonky cobblestone pathways.
You sat in a dainty, quiet cafe, having little conversations about the day and how it had been. There were multiple times where you both just sat in silence, staring at each other with blissful expressions and dilated pupils.
“George Clarke, I didn’t take you for a cafe-date type of guy.” You said, sipping your coffee.
“I am a man of many secrets and surprises.” George fluffed up his hair.
“Oh? Do tell.”
“What do you want to know.”
You thought for a minute, “Something you’ve never told anybody— or, like, something only a few people know.”
He rubbed his chin, sitting back in his chair while thinking deeply, “I don’t— Hm, no I cant say that one.”
You giggled at his little joke.
“Okay, so, I studied sports science at university.” He revealed, holding his hands out.
“Oh! Did you finish?”
“Last night? Yeah.”
“George!” You hissed, looking around to reassure yourself that no one had heard his little retort.
He barked out laughter, “No, um, I dropped out of uni. It just … wasn’t my thing.”
You nodded, understanding considering you knew a lot of people who dropped out.
yourusername posted a story !
‘i cant pronounce this place😵💫’
─────── GEORGE HAD RENTED a super fancy convertible for the night. You laughed as he drove through the streets of Paris, zooming past the canal and around the Eiffel Tower. You awed as you went past, looking back at him to see if he was seeing what you were — but his eyes were cemented to you.
You shuffled up out of your seat more so you could get a clearer picture, tucking your lip beneath your teeth as you focused. When you finally got the perfect shot, you were giddy, giggling to yourself and tapping your feet in the foot well of the car as you showed George.
“Good picture, but not nearly as beautiful as the one taking it.” He flirted, tucking your hair behind your ear and then zooming off.
You felt high on his affection and effort. You’d spent the whole day with him and not once did you feel upset or bored or uncomfortable. It was nice to go to a quiet place and not have to worry about being spotted or having cameras thrust in your faces — though you’d always secretly fantasise about that kind of life.
The two of you stumbled back into the hotel, hand-in-hand, cackling away. You received odd looks from some of the staff at the front desk, but it only made you laugh more. While in the elevator, he kissed you thrillingly.
You pulled away with a chuckle, pointing to the camera. He shrugged, not caring, and then hauled you over his shoulder, carrying you back to his hotel room.
George dropped you onto his bed and removed his jacket. You stared up at him, thumb nail between your teeth as you admitted him undressing.
Next was you, and he spared not a single inch of skin from his lips, making his way down your body. He looked up at you as he got between your legs, maintaining his steel gazed eye contact as he hooked your legs over his shoulders.
“Wait—“ You shot up just as he lowered his mouth, “What happens when we get back to England?”
George blinked, sitting up himself, “Whatever you want to happen. If you … want to cut me off and say ‘thanks but no thanks’ you can do that, but if you want to give this a real shot, I would be happy to try.”
“I—“
He silenced you with a kiss, “You don’t have to decide right now. Just … let me make you feel good, okay?”
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i’m sorry but i fell in love tonight
i didn’t mean to fall in love tonight
you’re looking like you fell in love
could we pretend that we’re in love?
summary: you knew you were never his first choice– but that didn’t stop you from falling for him. you can’t help but pretend that you were the one he was actually in love with
contains: fluff, angst, unrequited love, mentions of drinking and alcohol
notes: another shorter fic, another fic based on a song, hope yall enjoy. any feedback is appreciated
word count: 1.2k+
You sat back at the shared table with your friends, watching your best friend laugh and hold his girlfriend. Girlfriend.
You had nothing against her– hell, she ended up becoming one of your close friends since you ended up liking her more than most of your friends on certain nights. But that’s what made it more difficult for you. She was impossible to hate, and yet she was in the way of the man of your dreams.
You had the unfortunate fate of falling for your best friend. It wasn’t one of those small crushes that you’d just say– “oh he’s kinda fine–” no, you fell for him hard. You were madly in love with UK’s newest heartthrob, George Clarkey. Yet, you couldn’t do anything about it out of fear of ruining your friendship with him.
Then she came along and was arguably the best thing to have happened to him. You were happy for him, of course. She made him happy and she quickly became a close friend of yours, but it made your heart ache to see them so in love with each other. The things you’d do to be in her position, the one that he was in love with.
Anytime you were around George, you felt yourself pretending to be the girl he was actually in love with. You wanted to know what it was like to have him, the things you’d do to be in her position.
Obviously, you weren’t his first choice. The moments and late nights you spent lying to yourself, because being second wasn’t the same. You’d cry and complain to yourself, staring at yourself in the mirror because you weren’t anything like the girls he wanted.
It was unhealthy, but you did your best to push these feelings aside to the back of your mind while you put on a smile and play along. Because at the moment, his happiness was more important than your own feelings.
You promised yourself you wouldn’t let him complete you.
When he and his girlfriend got into a dispute at the pub, everything in your brain tells you to go comfort her. And yet, you went to George first.
He’s distracting himself from what had happened previously at the pub.
It’s one of those nights where you and George are drunk in the living room of his shared flat, except Chris and Arthur Hill are nowhere to be seen. It was just you and George.
But it doesn’t feel dangerous, there is no underlying tension between the two of you. It was the usual banter, small jabs, fits of laughter, little deep conversations that never failed to make you feel philosophical. Nothing unusual, just the typical.
And maybe the familiarity of George was what gave you that warm feeling in your chest. He put you at ease and set you on fire at the same time.
He’s comforting, something that did a number to your brain but never failed to make the tension in your body disappear.
You laughed as he drunkenly danced around the living room, white socks and shoes off. At some point you had stood up to join him, stumbling around like it was your first time being drunk. It was difficult to hold yourself up from how much you were laughing– George just had that effect on you.
You held onto his arms, steadying yourself with them like they were stairway railings. You hated how they were the only thing making you feel stable at this moment. Something about George always managed to put your brain at ease. That was the magic about him– he managed to calm you, ground you. You loved and hated it. He was so perfect for you but you couldn’t have him.
And you think about her, his girlfriend. God, you genuinely cared about her just as much as you did George. Even if you’ve known George for far longer and he was your best friend, you would never be able to live with yourself if you ever did anything to hurt her. Despite their squabble tonight, you knew it they’d be able to talk it out once they were sober tomorrow.
But you always wondered what it’d be like to be her, is this how she felt when she was with him? Did he put her busy and noisy brain at ease when she was with him? Does she feel steady with him, no matter how much alcohol she’s had that night? Does she suddenly feel okay when he wraps his big arms around her? Does she fight the urge to smile any time he’s around?
Does she feel that same giddy warmth that he does to you?
Somehow you and George ended up in his bedroom, sat side by side on the edge of his bed. You glanced at his setup, remembering all the times you’ve been on his stream.
Now, he’s put his head on your shoulder. And you notice how close his lips are, yearning to feel his lips against your skin.
There was something about how close you were with George right now, emotionally and physically. It was daring on the line of intimate. He’s warm, and it pulls you in. He has you entranced by his presence alone. You felt the little bubble of guilt floating, that you and George were something that she couldn’t see.
He’s retelling the story of how he met her, how he fell in love with her. He’s reminiscing, just thinking about her out loud. Then he’s expressing his regret, knowing that their conflict at the bar was dumb. And you listen.
The night had been a blur– the pre-gaming, the pub, the night life, the streets of London. And suddenly, the moment in George’s flat– the living room and his bedroom– it felt very real. His voice becomes an anchor for you to not get caught up in your thoughts. You don’t let yourself overthink.
You let him ramble on about his white sheets, the ones you were currently sitting on, and how it was how it all began. He’s still talking about her, how she came into his life, how she makes him feel complete, how in love he is with her. But you quietly pretend that in this very moment, he’s talking about you. That you’re the one he’s so head over heels in love with, that you were the one he’s recounting the memories of.
You let yourself take in his appearance, admiring his face, illuminated by the dimmed lights in the room. His eyes are soft and lidded, a small smile on his lips. He’s looking like he fell in love tonight.
He shifted slightly, you’re now shoulder to shoulder but he doesn’t move away from you. His knee nudges yours.
I’m sorry but I fell in love tonight, you thought to yourself as you leaned against him, your arm wrapped around his. You held his hand, brushing your thumb against the back of it. The way you both melted into each other felt too natural, like you were always meant to be by his side like this.
You let yourself soak in this moment. I didn’t mean to fall in love tonight. This was as far as it would get, and you let yourself have it.
Tonight, you could pretend that you were both in love. You could pretend that he was in love with you the way you were with him. And when he wakes up next morning, you’ll still be a second choice.
a/n: another reminder that i love halsey and i love writing based off of songs :3 hope you enjoyed
maybe some george clarkey angst/fluff?? like on a nightout, some fans catch you two being close and the reader freaks out but George reassures her? please and thank u!!! (i really like your writing! <3)
ACCIDENTAL SOFT-LAUNCH? // GEORGE CLARKE!
you and george had been seeing each other for the last month or so, both of you really liking how things were going between you. but you knew it was best to keep it on the low for a while. especially given george’s fan girls would definitely not be happy.
although they knew you and george were close friends, both of you doubted they’d suspect you were together. but you never know when there’s fans around.
tonight was your birthday party and the whole friend group were all going out for drinks. this would be your first birthday being with george and you were so excited to spend your day with him.
you were in your room with the girls — sabina, liv and flo. getting ready for your night out, but lowkey this was your favourite part, getting ready with your girls.
“so do you think he’ll ask you to be his girlfriend tonight?” sabina asks you from her place on the floor next to you.
you scrunch your face up in doubt, “i don’t think so to be honest, it would be nice. but i’m not too sure.”
“would you want him to?” she questions again, her eyebrows raised.
you nod silently, humming a small “yeah.”
the conversation between the four of you flows through the time spent getting ready, and before you know it you were in a club. music pounding through your body, the smell of alcohol filling the room.
you all get into a booth — sat in between chris and arthur tv, and directly in front of george. his eyes never leaving you, even when you were conversing with others.
your eyes meet as you finally look his way, “staring at me?” you mumble so only he could hear.
“sue me.” george raises his hands in surrender, “you look gorgeous.”
“thank you, don’t look too bad yourself.” you reply, eyes scanning him quickly.
he chuckles before raising a glass to his mouth, your eyes immediately landing in his big arms — practically salivating.
josh (chip) and sabina on the other side of the table, watches this interaction silently. sharing glances when either of you smiled at each other. “she said she wants him to ask her to be his girlfriend tonight.” sabina whispers to her fiancé.
“he wants to soon.” josh whispers back, “he just doesn’t know when it’s the right time.”
as your birthday night blissfully moves along, you finally ended up on the dance floor with george. moving in sync slowly with each other, the feeling as if it were just you two in an empty room.
“you having a good night so far?” he asks, his mouth dangerously close to your ear.
you nod with a smile, “yeah i am, thank you for coming.”
he shrugs casually, “wouldn’t miss it, would i?”
a cheeky grin appears on his face as he leans closer to you, lips brushing against each other.
“how could i forget to kiss the birthday girl?” he mumbles before pressing his lips completely against yours, moulding perfectly together.
what was a beautiful moment between the two of you — but you were both so unaware of what you’d be waking up to.
your head was pounding when you woke up, groaning when you open your eyes to your wide opened curtains. the sunlight blaring through the room.
you braced yourself for a few minutes before grabbing your phone, groaning once more seeing multiple notifications. much more than usual. which worried you of course.
scrolling through twitter first thing in the morning was a huge mistake, seeing that pictures of you and george had dropped. kissing.
“fuck sake.” you whisper to yourself, seeing a mix of comments.
“they’d be so cute.”
“i love when hot people date each other.”
“i hope they’re together!”
“idk i think he deserves better.”
“she’s way too pretty for him”
the comments didn’t help the spinning of your mind — you threw your phone to the side and sat up, eyes low from your head pounding.
a knock on the door breaks your trance, knowing the familiar knock you usher them in.
“hey..” george mumbles, peeking his head through the door — “alright for me to come in?” he asks.
“yeah of course.” you nod, speaking quietly.
he walked in with a glass of water and ibuprofen, sitting next to you, “how’s the headache?”
“absolutely pounding.” you breathe out, placing a palm on your head.
he hands you the medicine and water, “take these.”
you take them from him with a small “thank you” before downing it.
“so i take it you saw the tweet?” he breaks the silence, making you sigh.
“yeah i did, i’m sorry-” he cuts across before you can finish the apology.
“wow, you have no reason to be sorry. it’s not your fault.” george shakes his head, his brows furrowed. “please tell me you haven’t read the comments?” he questions.
you look away from his glance, knowing well enough that was the first thing you did.
george sighs, “y/n why did you look at them?” he asks, putting a hand on your thigh, “i promise you, whatever negative they said it’s not true.”
“i know that.” you sigh, putting your face in your hands. “i’m just embarrassed.”
“of me?” he questions, his face dropping slightly.
“what? no! of course not, just embarrassing that was our first ‘public appearance’, you know? i imagined a cute little soft launch.” you chuckle, before realising how stupid you thought you sound and threw yourself back on the bed.
he laughs, “y/n we can still do that, but i need to do something before.”
you quickly sat up, probably giving yourself whiplash, “what?”
“can i please be your boyfriend, it would make me the happiest man alive,” he smiles slightly, making you copy his facial expressions.
“of course you can.” you nod, bringing him in for a kiss — pecking his lips a few times.
“let’s do the soft launch then mrs.” he pats your leg, making you chuckle.
꣑ৎrequest: heyyy i love you’re writing!! i was wondering if you could do a story about george and reader being best friends but unusually close like REALLY touchy and flirty but deny everything?first time asking anything so sorry if this is bad don’t feel any pressure to actually do it 😭😭. but yeah that would be amazing!! wouldn’t mind smut btw 🙈🙈
You and George were best friends. Everyone knew that.
Or, well, that’s what you both said while you were curled up in his lap during movie nights, your legs thrown over his, your head tucked under his chin while he scrolled tiktok with one hand resting on your bare thigh, his thumb absentmindedly tracing slow, warm lines over your skin as the blue light flickered across both of your faces. His chest rose and fell beneath your cheek, steady and comforting, the faint scent of his body wash clinging to the soft fabric of his hoodie where your nose was pressed, your breath warming the spot through the cotton. His other hand occasionally lifted to swipe the screen, the faint sound of videos layered beneath the hum of the heating and the occasional creak of the sofa as you adjusted yourself, pressing closer into him without thinking.
“That’s literally my best friend,” you’d comment under those tiktok edits people made of you two, clips from vlogs where he hugged you from behind, arms locking tight around your waist, your laugh ringing out as you nearly dropped your coffee, or when he pulled you into him when you were laughing too hard to stand straight, burying your face in his chest while his hand slid down to rest low on your waist, his fingers splayed and pressing in a way that felt a little too intimate if you thought about it for longer than a second. The way he pressed his nose into your hair when you weren’t looking, inhaling softly before pulling away with a small, private smile, was captured in shaky phone camera quality, frozen in a single frame that people would slow down to point out in the comments, but you’d just roll your eyes, screen warm in your hand as you scrolled past.
Just friends, obviously.
It was even funnier when George would stitch those clips saying, “Internets mad, she’s just my mate,” while you were literally sitting on his lap, your arms around his neck, your fingers absently playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, both of you trying not to laugh as he pressed his cheek against yours for comedic effect, the soft bristle of his stubble brushing your skin, your smile wide enough that your cheeks ached. You could feel the vibration of his laugh against your chest where you pressed into him, feel the way his hands squeezed around your waist when you wiggled, trying to get comfortable.
Yyou didn’t even notice it anymore, the way you’d put your feet on his thighs when you sat across from him, pressing your cold toes against him while he pretended to scowl before covering your feet with his warm hands, thumbs rubbing absent, comforting circles into your ankle bones. The way he’d slip a hand under your hoodie to rub circles into your hip when you were cold, the pads of his fingers hot against the thin material of your pyjama shorts, sending a quiet shiver across your skin as you kept your eyes on the TV, pretending you didn’t notice the way his fingertips pressed gently, grounding you. The way you’d call him baby by accident, your voice coming out soft and warm as you asked him to pass your phone or remind you what the plan was for tomorrow, so often that it wasnt even an accident anymore, slipping out with the same easy familiarity as his name.
You’d changed in front of him countless times, usually while he lay on your bed, phone in hand, sprawled out with his socked feet hanging off the edge, giving commentary between scrolls, the glow of the screen lighting up the soft smirk on his lips.
“Bit of a dead outfit that,” he’d say, eyes flicking up at you from under his lashes, that teasing glint there as he watched you pull a hoodie over your head, your hair sticking up with static, making him snort.
Then grin when you threw a sock at him, the fabric hitting him in the chest before bouncing onto the duvet, his low chuckle filling the room, warm and close.
“Shut up, you’re literally wearing the same grey joggers for the third day in a row,” you’d shoot back, rolling your eyes as you adjusted your top, catching his gaze in the mirror across the room.
“Yeah, but I look good in them,” he’d shoot back, smirking, his voice dropping just a touch, eyes flicking down your body in a way that made your stomach do a weird, warm flip you always ignored, the heat creeping up your neck as you turned away, your pulse quick in your ears as you tried to keep your expression neutral, pretending it didn’t feel like the room had gotten smaller, closer, quieter, just for a second.
Just friends.
One evening, it was raining, and George didn’t want to go home.
He’d sprawled himself across your bed, one arm tucked under his head, the other lazily holding his phone above him, hoodie half off his shoulder, the soft stretch of his collarbone peeking out against the dark fabric. His hair was a mess, curls sticking damp to his forehead, the scent of rain and the cold air clinging to him as droplets dripped from the ends of his fringe onto the pillow. Every so often, he’d swipe up on a video, that stupid little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he held back a laugh, his thumb tapping idly against the screen in a rhythm that matched the soft drumming of the rain against your window.
You were fresh out of the shower, towel wrapped around you, warm steam still clinging to your skin, leaving your hair damp and sticking to your shoulders as you padded back into your bedroom, the floor cool beneath your bare feet. The scent of your body wash mixed with the crisp scent of rain filtering in through the open crack in the window, the chill in the air brushing against your heated skin, making goosebumps rise along your arms as you stepped further into the room.
George glanced up, pushing his curls off his forehead with a flick of his fingers, grinning lazily as his eyes flicked over you, “Didn’t even dry your hair properly, did ya?”
You rolled your eyes, shifting the towel higher on your chest as you walked past him to your dresser, droplets of water sliding down your legs in thin, glistening trails. “Didn’t even take off your shoes, did ya?” you mimicked back, letting your voice carry that soft, playful bite you always used with him.
He lifted his foot, showing you the socked sole, his ankle flexing as he wiggled it at you, smirk widening, his eyes bright with amusement. “Took ‘em off at the door, actually,” he shot back, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Dickhead,” you muttered under your breath, but your lips tugged upwards despite yourself, the word coming out softer than you intended.
George just chuckled, low and easy, the sound rumbling in the quiet room, eyes flicking back to his phone, though you could feel the way they lingered for a moment, a beat too long, before he looked down.
You didn’t think twice as you unwrapped your towel, the soft fabric falling in a heavy heap at your feet, warm air ghosting across your freshly showered skin, leaving tiny goosebumps in its wake. Your back was turned, hair dripping water down your spine as you rummaged through your top drawer, fingers brushing over soft cotton and lace as you searched for a bra, the quiet rustle of fabric loud in the stillness.
You’d done it before. He’d seen you in bikinis, your skin slick with sunscreen and saltwater, towels wrapped low around your hips as you pulled on hoodies over your swimsuits, laughter spilling from your lips as he rushed you to leave. You’d stood in your little matching sets, one sock on, one sock off, pulling on jeans while he lay sprawled out complaining, “Hurry up, we’re gonna miss our train,” his voice muffled into your pillow.
But this time, the room was quiet.
You could feel his eyes on you, heavy, hot, dragging over the curve of your hips where they dipped into your waist, over the faint shimmer of water droplets gliding down your back, following the trail along your spine until they disappeared beneath the soft swell of your hips. You coudl feel the heat prickling at your neck as you bent to grab a bra from the drawer, the cool air brushing against the soft swell of your chest, your hair swinging over your shoulder as you glanced down, pretending you didn’t notice the way the air had changed, how the silence felt thick, pressing, like the moment was stretching out, waiting for one of you to breathe.
And you could feel it, the way his gaze traced every inch of you, warm and unblinking, your skin tightening under the weight of it, your heart thumping loud in your ears, a soft, slow heat pooling low in your stomach that you tried, desperately, to ignore.
Just friends.
Obviously.
You caught it in the mirror, the way his phone was frozen in his hand, the screen’s glow lighting up the stillness of his features, the way his jaw tensed so subtly, the muscle feathering beneath his skin, lips parting just slightly like he’d forgotten how to keep them closed.
You saw the way his joggers shifted, the unmistakable twitch of fabric over the outline of him, the small, involuntary jerk that betrayed everything, and the way his hand immediately moved, fingers pressing down as if adjusting himself subtly, like he thought you wouldn’t notice, like he thought you’d still believe the easy lie of best friends.
Your heart thundered, a heavy, pulsing thud that echoed in your ears, heat flooding between your legs before you could even process it, your breath catching in your throat as your eyes stayed fixed on his reflection, on the soft flush crawling up the column of his throat.
“George..” you said softly, pulling your arms through your bra straps, the clasp still undone, the fabric resting against your skin as you turned around to face him, your hair dripping water down your chest, catching in the lace.
His eyes flicked up, wide, dark, like a guilty teenager caught stealing glances, his adams apple bobbing hard as he swallowed, fingers twitching against the phone still resting limply in his hand. “What?”
You smirked, letting the corner of your mouth curl as you took your time to clasp your bra, fingers moving slow, deliberately fumbling with the hooks, letting your chest shift subtly as you adjusted the straps, your eyes locked on his, watching them dip down before he forced them back up to your face, pink blooming across his cheeks.
“Oh, nothing,” you teased, your voice light, feigning nonchalance as you stepped into your shorts, tugging them up slowly over your damp thighs, the soft cotton catching on your skin before you pulled them higher, letting the waistband snap lightly against your hips with a quiet, sharp sound that made his eyes widen, the flush creeping all the way up to his ears.
His eyes dragged down, helpless, hungry, before they snapped back up to your face, cheeks flushed pink, lips pressing together as he tried to control his expression.
“Shut up,” he muttered, but his voice was hoarse, strained around the edges, the words soft, cracking slightly as they left him, and he couldn’t stop looking at you, eyes darting down and up, down and up, breath coming a little faster.
You padded over, bare feet silent on the floor, stepping between his knees where he sat on the edge of your bed, the fabric of his joggers brushing softly against your shins as you stood close, so close that you could feel the warmth rolling off him, the scent of rain and the faint trace of his cologne drifting up to meet you.
Your hand reached out, fingers sliding gently through his messy curls, the strands soft and damp under your touch as you pushed them off his forehead, your thumb brushing across his temple, down to his cheekbone, feeling the heat there, the way his skin burned beneath your fingertips.
“You’re so red,” you teased gently, your thumb brushing over his cheekbone, catching the edge of the flush spreading across his skin, the softness in your voice belying the sharp, quick thrum in your chest, the heat pooling low in your stomach as his eyes fluttered shut for a moment under your touch, breath catching as you traced your thumb down to the edge of his jaw.
“am not,” he shot back, but his voice was soft, nearly breaking, eyes flicking between your lips and your eyes, dark and desperate, his breathing uneven. His hands hovered at your sides like he didn’t know where to put them, fingers twitching, clenching and unclenching against the fabric of his joggers, knuckles pale.
You tilted your head, letting your thumb trace the corner of his mouth, your skin brushing over the soft prickle of stubble on his jaw, the faint scratch of it sending sparks down your spine. His lips were warm under your touch, parted slightly, breath hot against the pad of your thumb as you traced along the edge, your stomach flipping, tightening with a warmth that settled low, heavy and wanting, the air in the room suddenly thick, hard to swallow.
“George,” you whispered, softer this time, your voice catching around the syllables like it was the first time you were really saying his name, letting it mean everything it always had, everything you’d tried to hide.
His hands lifted, fingers finally finding you, gripping your hips, thumbs pressing into the dip of your waist, hard enough that you felt the imprint of them through your shorts. His fingers dug in, pulling you closer, dragging you flush between his knees until your thighs brushed his, the heat of him radiating against your bare skin.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he breathed, voice rough, ragged at the edges, eyes pinned to yours, wide and pleading.
“Like what?”
“Like you want me,” he muttered, jaw tightening, the muscles feathering under his skin, his eyes dropping to your lips again before flicking back up, voice low and strained, “Don’t, if you dont-”
“I do,” you said, before you could stop yourself, your voice soft but steady, the truth breaking free, raw and heavy in the charged silence.
The air cracked between you, the denial you’d both wrapped around yourselves like a blanket for so long finally tearing, the weight of it falling away, leaving only the thrum of your heartbeat in your ears, the sharp inhale he took as the words sank in.
His eyes darkened, his grip tightening on your hips as he tugged you forward, pulling you down into him with a desperate, helpless force. You fell into his lap, your legs moving to straddle him instinctively, the fabric of your thin shorts riding up as you settled over him, your knees bracketing his hips, your hands bracing on his shoulders, fingers curling into the soft cotton of his hoodie.
You could feel him, hard beneath you, pressing up through the soft grey fabric of his joggers, thick and unmistakable, the heat of him searing through the layers between you, pushing against the thin, damp cotton of your shorts. Your breath caught, a sharp, shaky gasp slipping out as your hips shifted, the movement sending a spark of heat through your core, your thighs tightening around him, pressing closer.
His breath hitched, loud in the quiet room, his hands flexing on your hips, pulling you down harder against him as you felt the full length of him pressing up, hard and heavy, trapped between your bodies. You could feel the way he twitched beneath you, the subtle, desperate jerk of his hips upward meeting the involuntary roll of yours, your clit catching against the seam of your shorts, sending a sharp, aching pleasure through you that made your stomach tighten, your lips part on a quiet, shaky breath.
His eyes were locked on yours, dark and hungry, his chest rising and falling rapidly, breath mingling with yours in the scant inches between your faces, the scent of rain and him wrapping around you as you felt every inch of his hardness straining against you, so close, so hot, so impossible to ignore now that you’d felt it, pressed directly against the aching heat between your thighs.
“Fuck,” he whispered, breath shaky, eyes fluttering shut as the word slipped out, rough and raw against the silence.
You leaned in, slow and deliberate, pressing your forehead gently to his, the warmth of your skin radiating between you, your nose brushing his in the faintest, teasing touch. Your lips hovered, barely touching his, close enough to feel the tremble of his breath mingling with yours, electric and tight.
“Say it,” you whispered, voice low and urgent, like a secret only the two of you shared, like the whole world had shrunk to this fragile, trembling moment.
“What?” His voice was thick, unsteady, barely above a breath, like he was afraid to speak the truth aloud.
“Say you want me too.”
His hands clenched your waist tighter, fingers pressing under the hem of your shorts, skin warm and trembling beneath his touch. His eyes snapped up to meet yours, burning, dark, fierce, raw vulnerability flickering there, a desperate need.
“I want you,” he said, voice breaking as if admitting it cost him something deep, like he’d been holding it inside, aching to say it for longer than he could remember, the words catching in his throat but finally, finally free.
You smiled, breathless, a soft laugh bubbling up from somewhere deep, trembling and light as you finally closed the last inch between you, lips meeting his in a kiss that was gentle at first, a feather-light brush, tentative and searching.
But then George’s hand slid up your back, warm and insistent, pulling you impossibly closer until your bodies were flush, every nerve alight. The kiss deepened, his tongue slipping past your lips, tasting you, hungry and raw, as if he was devouring every part of you in that moment.
You moaned softly, the sound low and breathy against his mouth, fingers tangling in the thick curls at the nape of his neck, tugging lightly as if to anchor yourself. He groaned, so so deep,guttural even, and pulled you even closer, crushing you against him so your chest pressed to his, heart pounding, hips grinding slowly down against the undeniable hardness pressing up beneath you.
The kiss was messy, desperate, years and years of stolen glances, quiet touches, denied feelings crashing down between you like a storm breaking free. You kissed him like you were starving, like every second without this was a lie, like you were finally, irrevocably allowed to want him the way you always had, raw, aching, and utterly relentless.
Your lips were swollen, tender and tingling, your breathing ragged, each inhale shaky as it filled your chest, your exhales brushing warm across George’s throat. Strands of your hair clung to your damp skin, sticking to your cheeks and collarbone, your flushed chest rising and falling as you sat straddling him, the heat between you so thick it was almost suffocating, both of you barely holding it together.
Your bare chest pressed flush against him, skin to cotton, your nipples dragging across the soft fabric of his t-shirt with every shaky breath and tiny movement, sending sparks of sensation down your spine, your thighs tightening around his hips. You barely registered the way his hands had moved, angelic in their gentleness, tugging your bra off and letting it fall to the floor without a word, his touch so light you barely felt it, lost in the haze of want clouding your mind.
But you felt the way your nipples brushed and caught against him, dragging over the soft, worn cotton stretched across his chest, each movement shooting a sharp, delicious ache through you, leaving your skin pebbled, sensitive, desperate for more.
You rocked your hips down, a slow, deliberate grind, dragging yourself over the hard, thick line of him pressing up through the soft fabric of his grey joggers. Even through the layers, you could feel the heat of him, the way he filled out the fabric, thick and hot, pressing perfectly against the soaked material of your thin shorts, your wetness clinging to the cotton, sticking to you with every drag of your hips as you ground down harder, chasing the friction.
“Fuck..” he groaned, head tipping back against the wall, curls brushing against it as his eyes fluttered shut, lips parting around a shaky breath. His hands gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into your skin, thumbs pressing into the curve of your waist, trying to hold you still, trying to control himself, but the way you rolled your hips again had a broken, needy sound tearing from his throat, a sound you felt vibrate where your chest pressed against him.
“Don’t-” he choked, voice hoarse, breathless, jaw tightening as he clenched it hard, trying to suppress another moan that threatened to slip out as you rocked down, dragging your wetness over him, the pressure building with each slow grind.
“Don’t what?” you teased softly, your voice low, breathy, warm against his ear as you leaned in, your lips brushing the sharp line of his jaw, pressing a soft kiss there before trailing down, finding that sensitive spot just under his ear, the one you’d always noticed made him shiver when you hugged him from behind. You kissed it softly, then let your teeth graze it just slightly, feeling him gasp beneath you, his hips jerking up involuntarily.
You rocked down harder, letting your hips press and roll, your clit catching perfectly on the ridge of him beneath the fabric, the pressure hitting just right, making your breath stutter, your eyes fluttering shut as a soft, broken moan slipped from your lips against his skin, the heat between your legs pulsing, throbbing, desperate for more.
“Don’t do that unless you’re gonna-”
His voice broke, cutting off in a strangled, desperate moan when you rolled your hips again, slow, deliberate, your soaked heat dragging perfectly over the thick, hard ridge of him beneath his joggers, darkening the soft grey fabric where your bodies pressed together. The wetness was obvious now, sticking the cotton of your shorts to your folds, leaving nothing hidden, every slow grind sending a sharp ache through you, your breath catching, your thighs trembling from the slow, dirty friction.
You pulled back, just enough to see his face, needing to see him, needing to watch him fall apart beneath you.
His brows were pinched together, that soft furrow of pleasure and restraint, trying so hard to hold on, to keep himself together. His mouth was parted, lips swollen and red from your kisses, slick with spit, a small shine catching in the low light as his breaths stuttered out in shaky, uneven pants. His jaw was tense, sharp lines shifting as he clenched and unclenched, trying to keep quiet, trying to stay composed, but failing with every slow drag of your hips over him.
His eyes. God, his eyes. they were glazed, heavy-lidded, pupils blown so wide the blue was nearly swallowed up, only a thin ring remaining, dark and glassy as they tried, desperately, to stay on yours. They flickered down helplessly, dropping to where your bodies met, the sight of your hips rolling down, your wet shorts dragging across the thick, obvious outline of him, making his breath hitch, his lashes fluttering before he forced them back up, meeting your gaze with a dazed, wrecked look that made your stomach flip.
He looked drunk on you. Ccompletely gone, the soft pink flush creeping high on his cheeks, spreading down his throat, sweat gathering at his hairline, dampening the messy curls that clung to his forehead. His lips trembled, a small, breathy sound escaping as you rolled your hips again, a whimper that he tried to swallow down but couldn’t.
“You like this, baby?” you whispered, voice low, teasing, letting it drip warmth between you as your hips rolled again, slow, controlled, making sure he felt every slick drag, every press of your clit catching on him, the pressure perfect.
Your hands slid up his chest, dragging lightly over the fabric of his t-shirt, your nails scratching lightly, feeling the heat of him underneath, the way his chest rose and fell rapidly, the way his muscles twitched under your touch as you moved.
His eyes flickered down, glazed and dark, watching where your hips moved, where your body pressed down against him, the fabric of your shorts soaked and sticking to your folds, dragging over him in slow, filthy circles, leaving a dark patch of wetness on his joggers that spread with every roll, every grind.
“Fuck, yeah, I- fuck, don’t stop,” he groaned, voice breaking, so wrecked it made your thighs clench, your core pulsing with need. His hands flexed on your hips, gripping tighter, dragging you down harder, guiding you into him, his own hips bucking up just slightly, a desperate, uncontrolled jerk before he caught himself, chest heaving as he tried to slow down, to savour the way you felt, the way the moment stretched hot and thick between you.
You smirked, leaning in, pressing your lips to his in a slow, open-mouthed kiss, your tongue brushing against his, tasting the soft, helpless whimpers he let out against your mouth. You rolled your hips again as you kissed him, the friction building, slow and delicious, making your thighs tremble around him, the pressure between your legs coiling tighter, sharper, with every grind, every shaky breath, every soft, broken sound he made beneath you, drunk on you, completely undone in your hands.
“Lay back,” you murmured against his lips, your breath warm and shaky, your mouth brushing his with each word.
“What?” he asked, dazed, pupils blown wide, eyes unfocused for a moment as if the words weren’t sinking in, too lost in the heat of you.
“Lay back for me,” you repeated, your voice soft but firm, your hands sliding up to his chest, pushing gently, feeling the hard thump of his heartbeat beneath your palms.
He let you, like he couldn’t even think to resist, falling back onto your pillows with a soft, breathy sound, his curls splaying out across your sheets, dark strands catching the glow of the lamp, haloing around his flushed face. His hands stayed on your hips, fingers gripping softly as you stayed straddling him, sitting up fully so he could see you.
The way his eyes darkened made your breath catch, your chest tightening as his gaze dragged over you, slow and hungry, tracing every line of your body, the curve of your waist, the soft swell of your breasts, your nipples tight in the cool air, the way your hair stuck to your damp skin. His eyes dropped lower, following the movement of your hips as you rolled down on him again, slow and deliberate, leaving another dark, soaked patch on the grey fabric of his joggers where your wetness spread across him, dragging heat through your core with each shift.
“Jesus Christ…” he whispered, voice rough, breaking around the edges as his chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath warm and uneven, lips parted. His hands slid up your waist, warm and trembling, callused fingertips dragging across your ribs before cupping your breasts, the heat of his palms sinking into your skin. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, the touch soft but sparking sharp pleasure through you, making you gasp, your back arching into his hands, your thighs tightening around his hips.
“You like watching me like this?” you teased, your voice breathy, laced with the warmth curling low in your stomach as you rocked your hips down again, slow, letting him feel every inch of you, the thick, hard line of him pressing perfectly against your soaked folds through the thin fabric, catching on your clit with every drag, sending a sharp, delicious jolt of pleasure through you that made your eyes flutter shut for a moment.
“Yeah,” he admitted, breathless, his voice soft but desperate, as if the words were being pulled from him, “Fuck, I love it. Love seeing you on top of me, baby.”
His eyes were fixed on you, dark and blown wide, the green swallowed up by black, his gaze dragging down to where your hips moved, the way your wetness stained his joggers, the fabric clinging to him, outlining the hard, thick length of him pressing up against you with every slow grind. His hands moved, thumbs circling over your nipples again, making your breath stutter, your hips grinding down harder, the friction perfect, your wetness slicking the fabric, the heat building with every drag.
You whimpered, a soft, broken sound tearing from your throat as your hips moved faster, the rhythm picking up without conscious thought, driven by the sharp, desperate need building inside you. Your hands braced against his chest, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, feeling the heat of him beneath, the steady, frantic thump of his heartbeat matching the pounding of yours.
You rode him through his joggers, each roll of your hips sending jolts of pleasure shooting through you, your clit throbbing with every grind against the thick, hard line of him straining against the damp fabric, the friction slick, dirty, perfect. You could feel every ridge, every twitch, every desperate throb of him pressing up against you, hot and heavy, dragging over your soaked shorts, your wetness spreading, sticking the fabric to you as you rocked down harder.
“Feels so good…” you moaned softly, your voice breathless, catching on the end as your head tipped back, your hair falling down your back in messy waves, sticking to the sweat gathering along your spine. Your back arched, your chest pressing forward, your nipples dragging across the fabric of his shirt with every bounce, sending sharp, electric sparks through you as you moved faster, chasing the high coiling tight in your stomach.
“Yeah? Feels good?” he panted, his voice rough, wrecked, every word punched out around shaky breaths. His hands slid back down to your hips, gripping tight, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he guided you, helping you move exactly how you needed, pulling you down harder, grinding you against him. His own hips lifted just slightly to meet you, tiny thrusts that made the friction sharper, deeper, pulling a groan from his lips that made your core tighten, your clit pulsing.
“Fuck, you’re so pretty,” he praised, voice low, reverent, his eyes glued to you, pupils blown wide, dark and hungry as they followed every movement. He watched the way your breasts bounced with each roll of your hips, the way your stomach tightened, the way your face twisted in pleasure, your lips parted, your brows furrowed, your eyes glassy with want.
“George…” you whimpered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer, rolling your hips down harder, dragging your clit against him with each grind, the friction hitting that perfect spot that made your thighs start to tremble, your breath catching in your throat as the pressure built higher, sharper, your orgasm creeping closer with each desperate rock of your hips.
“That’s it, baby, just like that,” he encouraged, his voice low, ragged, the words slipping out between soft, helpless moans, “Ride me, yeah? Ride me just how you like it.”
Your eyes snapped open, locking onto his, and the moment hit you like a wave. the intimacy of it, the way he was looking at you, the heat, the softness, the pure need in his eyes as he watched you fall apart on top of him. It made your stomach tighten, your hips stuttering as you ground down harder, chasing the edge you were dangling over.
“Fuck, George, I’m gonna- ” you gasped, the words breaking as your hips stuttered again, the pleasure cresting, washing over you in a hot, sharp wave that left you trembling, your thighs shaking around his hips as you came, grinding down hard, your clit catching on him again and again as you rode out your high. Your nails dug into his chest through the fabric of his shirt, your breath coming in quick, broken gasps as you whimpered his name, your vision blurring with the force of it.
“Good girl, fuck, that’s it, baby, that’s it,” he praised, voice low and warm, eyes fixed on you, full of so much raw, open want it made your heart stutter. His own hips lifted to meet yours, letting himself get lost in the moment, chasing the friction, the heat, as his hands slid up your back, holding you tight, pulling you down.
He kissed you, hard and deep, his tongue sliding into your mouth as you whimpered against him, your body still trembling, every nerve alight, the taste of him, the feel of him, anchoring you as you rode out every last wave of your orgasm in his lap, your hips moving slow, desperate, grinding against the thick, hot length of him pressed up between you, the wet, messy drag of it sending aftershocks pulsing through you as you kissed him, letting him swallow your soft, breathless moans.
You rolled off him, your thighs still trembling, breath coming in soft, uneven puffs as you lay down next to him, the warmth of him radiating beside you. Your hair fanned out on the pillow, strands sticking to your damp skin, your body still humming, oversensitive in the best way.
You turned your head, looking at him, and he turned too, his curls messy, sticking to his forehead, his cheeks flushed pink, lips parted as he caught his breath. You leaned in, pressing your mouth to his in a soft, slow kiss, tasting the warmth of him, the softness of his lips, letting it ground you in the quiet after the storm.
But you paused, your eyes flicking down, catching the dark, wet patch spreading across the front of his grey joggers, the fabric clinging to him, a puddle visible, the dampness unmistakable.
“Wait, when did you- ” you started, your eyes wide, blinking in confusion, your brain trying to catch up.
“I finished really close to the start,” he admitted, his voice low, still breathless, the words slipping out on a sheepish exhale. Then a grin spread across his face, that stupid, boyish grin that made your heart ache, eyes crinkling, curls bouncing as he let out a small, breathless laugh. “That was fucking hot.”
You stared at him in disbelief, your lips parting, a soft, incredulous laugh bubbling up, unable to process it as you glanced back down at the obvious wetness staining his joggers.
“How didn’t i notice?” you asked, blinking, your voice soft, teasing, your heart still thudding in your chest as you looked back at his flushed, happy face.
“I tried not to show it so you could keep going,” he confessed, his voice softer now, more vulnerable, eyes flicking up to meet yours, warm and earnest, “I just wanted to make you feel good. I didn’t even mean to, it just.. fuck, I couldn’t help it.”
The sincerity in his voice, the soft, pink flush on his cheeks, the way his eyes were shining, made your heart swell, warmth blooming in your chest so suddenly it almost hurt, your lips curving into a small, fond smile as you reached out, brushing a curl from his forehead, your thumb tracing over the soft skin of his temple.
You leaned in, pressing another gentle kiss to his lips, lingering there, feeling him smile against your mouth, the moment quiet and warm, the air between you soft and intimate, the afterglow wrapping around you both as you lay there, tangled together, unable to stop smiling."
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summary: being wedged between chris and will in the backseat of a car leads to something quite unexpected
warnings: mature content (18+ only)
main masterlist
content warnings: threesome, titty sucking, public sex (kinda idk), fingering - if im missing any let me know <33
The car hummed steadily along the motorway, the soft rumble of tires on tarmac was drowned out by the boys relentless back-and-forth from the front and the back of the car. You sat tucked in the back, your camera resting on your lap, panning lazily between the boys as they bickered over Chris not being allowed to drive for more than two hours and Will snd Stephen getting drunk so they wouldn’t be able to drive.
Next to you, Will shifted slightly, one arm slung across the back of the seat, casual as ever. He looked unfairly good in the warm glow of the bright sun, his red football shirt slouched over his shoulders, his mullet curling perfectly at the back of his neck. His knee was pressed lightly against yours with a familiar weight that never bothered you.
You tried to keep your focus on the camera. Tried.
“Mate, you’ve literally been driving for ten years, course you can drive a fucking manual.” Chris scoffed.
Stephen rolled his eyes dramatically, “Ten years is along time, Chris.”
“And he’s pissed, so he legally can’t be behind the wheel,” Will teased from beside you, voice thick with that trademark Geordie lilt – which always became extra strong after a drink – and a shiver ran down your spine.
You turned the camera to him just in time to catch his grin making your stomach flip.
“So true, William,” Stephen laughed, tossing a crisp packet at the backseat. It landed on the carpeted floor between the two of you, and Will snorted, kicking it away with the toe of his trainer.
You leaned forward slightly, capturing the chaos, letting your laughter spill into the background of the recording. You hadn’t noticed Will’s hand had crept closer to your thigh until you shifted back again and felt the faintest brush of his pinkie against your skin.
You stiffened just slightly, eyes flicking to him. But he was still watching the front, still laughing, still being Will, acting as if he hadn’t just made the breath knock out of your chest.
Maybe it was an accident.
You turned your attention back to the camera, focusing on Chris’ exasperated face as Stephen downed another can of blue AU vodka. Then there it was. That hand again. Firmer now.
You gasped softly, head snapping to the side.
Will still wasn’t looking at you. His lips twitched into a knowing smirk, but his eyes remained forward. Bastard.
You swallowed hard and nudged his hand away, trying to keep your expression neutral, even as your skin prickled where his rings had brushed you. He just chuckled under his breath, shameless, fingers dropping back to the seat just barely grazing your skin.
Goosebumps spread across your thighs.
You hated how much you liked it. How much you wished he’d carry on with the teasing. How he was shamelessly doing it in front of his friends, in front of the cameras.
“We’re gonna have to stop somewhere,” Stephen announced, wriggling dramatically in his seat, “I have to piss so bad.”
The boys burst into laughter, and Chris nodded, “Find the next services then.”
You laughed too, but it came out a little breathless. You reached to turn the camera off and placed it on the seat beside you, ignoring the burning heat that was bubbling low in your stomach.
As the car rolled smoothly down the motorway again, your body stilled. Will’s hand was back giving a firm squeeze.
And this time, you didn’t move.
You tilted your head slowly, lashes brushing your cheeks as you glanced up at him. Will met your gaze, a smirk firmly in place, and the glint in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.
This wasn’t a game anymore.
You exhaled softly, thighs tensing under his touch as his fingers slipped beneath the hem of your shorts. Your breath caught in the back of your throat, heat pooling between your thighs. You bit down on your lip, cheeks burning, but your eyes didn’t waver. They locked with Chris’ in the rearview mirror; his amused smirk all too evident.
Then Will’s fingers pressed firmly over your clothed clit, and a sharp jolt of pleasure shot through you. You gasped, instinctively clamping your legs shut, shaking your head, your mouth parting to say something, but Chris beat you to it.
“Alright, we’re here. Off you go, Stephen.”
“Yes, Dad.” Stephen laughed, unbothered as ever, jumping out and strolling off toward the services.
Chris turned in his seat to face you and Will in the back, “You two gonna finish your little show or what?”
“We’ve not even started it yet,” Will said casually.
“What if people see?” you asked, glancing toward the windows, heart hammering against your ribcage.
“Nobody’s gonna see, pet,” Will murmured, brushing your hair back from your face with one hand. The other slipped from your thigh, calmly unbuckling both your seatbelts, “C’mere.”
You shifted on the bench seat, nerves fluttering in your stomach. Gnawing your cheek, you leaned into Will’s side, his arm curling around your shoulder. His hand slid down, slipping into the waistband of your shorts and gliding over the damp patch on your underwear.
“Fucking hell, darlin’. This wet for me already?”
You hummed softly, letting your head fall to his shoulder, Will’s nimble fingers teasing slow, lazy circles over your clit through the thin fabric.
“Look at Chris f’me.”
You did as you were told, the vibrations echoing from Will’s chest as he chuckled at your obediance. Your gaze dropped to the front of the car. Chris was leaning back against the dashboard, his hand buried in his shorts, dark eyes locked on you as he watched every twitch and whimper as Will’s hands moved across your body.
Will cupped your tits through your shirt, squeezing, teasing, drawing a needy whine from you just as his fingers finally slipped beneath your knickers, gathering the slick from your folds.
“Shit, sweetheart. Look at you, so needy for Will,” Chris groaned.
You nodded, lips parted, breath stuttering as your hips rocked forward into Will’s hand. Your shaky fingers curled around Will’s wrist, eyes wide and pleading as you looked up at him with a pout. He gave you what you wanted, sliding a finger into your tight cunt, the intrusion slow and deliberate. You moaned at the stretch, turning your gaze back to Chris, wishing, aching, for his hands to be on you too.
Your eyes dropped lower, catching sight of his hand still stroking his cock beneath his shorts, “Chris,” you whimpered, reaching out toward him. The sheer desperation in your voice made him groan.
“You want Chrissy too?” Will chuckled, slipping in a second finger, “Needy girl.”
You whimpered again, squeezing your eyes shut, your bottom lip trembling as your nails dug into the leather of the centre console, “yeah…”
Will jerked his chin toward Chris, nodding. Without hesitation, Chris climbed into the back, wedging himself between your legs. The space was tight, but you barely noticed. All of your focus was on the feeling of Chris’ mouth wrapping around your nipple as he pushed your bunched-up top higher.
A string of incoherent moans and curses left your lips, pleasure biting under your skin. One hand buried in Chris’ hair, the other gripped Will’s wrist tight as he continued to pump his fingers inside you.
“More,” you gasped, eyes fluttering.
Will raised an eyebrow, letting out a laugh, “You sure you can handle more, princess?”
“M’sure please, Will?” you begged, blinking up at him through glassy, fucked-out eyes.
He melted, instantly giving in.
With his free hand, Will tapped Chris, who immediately brought his fingers to your clit, tracing sharp, precise circles. At the same time, Will slid in a third finger, your walls stretching around him.
“Fuck,” one of them muttered, but your mind was too fogged to know who.
Your throat burned from the moans tearing out of you. The sensations of Chris sucking at your tits, and Will’s fingers pounding into your cunt had your body coiling tight, your orgasm barrelling toward you fast.
The moment Chris’ teeth scraped lightly over your nipple, you broke.
Your body convulsed between them, hips jerking up into their hands as you rode your high. Will didn’t let up, fucking you through the aftershocks, his fingers working your fluttering cunt until your body finally gave in, slumping against him.
Your breath came in ragged gasps. A whimper escaped your throat at the loss as both of them pulled away. Will smirked, raising his glistening fingers to your lips, tapping lightly. You parted them, obedient as ever, sucking them clean, eyes locked on his the entire time.
Chris groaned at the sight, “Jesus Christ.”
With a sigh, he climbed back into the driver’s seat, giving you space to compose yourself before Stephen returned. You leaned over quickly, pecking his lips, making him smile despite himself.
“Right then.” Will huffed, crossing his arms with mock offence, “I see how it is.”
You laughed breathlessly, sliding back beside him and cupping his jaw, bringing his mouth to yours, “Happy now?” you teased voice rasped, pulling away only to find that smug smile etched across his face.
“Very. Thank you very much.”
The passenger door yanked open just as you slid away from Will and buckled your seatbelt again, trying to hide the satisfied smile on your face.
“That queue was ridiculous,” Stephen groaned. “But I got us more wine, William.”
“Nice one, mate.” Will grinned, grabbing the bottle from him and then he froze. His eyes snapped to the dashboard camera, blinking red. His face paled.
“Did you leave the cameras on, Chris?” he asked, choking on a cough, trying to play it cool.
Your head whipped around, eyes going wide. You leaned forward, peering past Stephen’s seat. Sure enough, the light was still blinking.
Chris just shrugged, a wicked smirk playing on his lips, “Oops. Must’ve forgot.”
He paused, then added with a wink, “Don’t worry though, I’ll be editing that footage.”
